

Desperately Wicked

Published by Anthony Van at Smashwords

Copyright Anthony Van 2017

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

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Chapter 1

Legs peddled madly, sweat soaked his tee shirt as he gave it one final burst. Go, go, go... he urged himself. Adrian's legs were aching, his muscles were knotting and still he pushed himself. That was it. He didn't have anything left. Leaning on the handles, legs resting on the floor, he was gasping for air.

He'd pushed himself hard but as he regained his breath, Adrian knew he was ready for more. Straightening up, he got off the exercise bike and threw his towel around his neck, mopping the drips from his face. As he sauntered over to the weights, he examined his physique in a mirror. There was a certain smugness in his look about his muscular torso. His personal vanity was something he'd never admit to but he seldom walked past a mirror without admiring his slightly wedge shape tall frame. He wouldn't concede to being vain but he was proud that his body mass index was optimum; his cardio vascular fitness was apparent in the rapid post-exercise normal heartbeat recovery, and there wasn't a trace of excess body fat. His secret joy was that many a girl at the gym turned her head to look at him as he walked by.

It had been a boring day writing up case notes in his job as a detective senior constable with the Armed Robbery Squad. Because of the sedentary nature of his work day, he was determined to give himself a real workout. Adrian stood in his regular spot to lift weights. His biceps bulged at each barbell curl, as he raised each forearm and the weights were pressed to his chest. Each movement was slow and deliberate making the muscles do the work. He couldn't help grinning as two girls wandered past and seemed to make appreciative comments to each other about him.

After completing his weights routine with barbells and then cable, he pushed himself for a frenetic fifteen minutes punching a speedball. When he was well and truly lathered in perspiration, he headed off to the showers.

Dried and dressed, Adrian was again checking the mirror, this time ensuring that his hair was cheekily mussed. He jerked with surprise when his new bulky mobile phone clamoured for his attention. Reaching in, he retrieved the relatively novel device from his sports bag. It was a phone call from Candice. She told him she was cancelling their dinner date. She had to work late. He smiled. Candace was beautiful. She was a high flyer in advertising, flirty, and had been delightful company for him over the year that he'd known her. So much so that he was beginning to view their relationship as something substantial. It was ironic that she had cancelled out. He had pulled the plug on the last three dates they had made because of being called out to crime scenes so he was philosophical about having to forgo a romantic evening with his girlfriend.

***

Hazarding his refrigerator for a frozen meal, of which he ate half before abandoning the move as an assault on his taste buds, Adrian was thumbing through the newspaper television guide when his home phone rang.

"Work again!" he complained, before moving to lift the device from its cradle.

"Hello," he answered unenthusiastically.

"Is that you Ade?"

"Yes...who's this?" He was thinking how primitive his response was."

"It's Ben. Hey...do you sound down. What's wrong?"

"Nothin'...thought it was work...and...well...I'm not in the mood."

"How 'bout a movie? Might cheer you up."

"What's on?"

"Shawshank Redemption...looks okay."

"Never heard of it."

"Joe said it was pretty good."

"Okay...I can't be bothered watching TV anyway."

***

Ben picked Adrian up in his dilapidated jeep. Some of the canvas was torn and the trip was a bit breezy. At Adrian's suggestion that it was time to upgrade, he became defensive saying that it was a family heirloom.

"You mean you inherited it from your dad."

"Same thing."

"Hardly."

"How do you pick up a date in this," Adrian objected.

He answered doggedly, "Any girl who can't cope with this, couldn't cope with me."

There was a certain homespun logic in his statement that the detective couldn't deny.

At a café, eroding the time before the next screening, there was some banter about how serious Adrian's relationship with Candice was becoming. Then Ben shared how he had met a girl the previous week who was a social worker. Her visits to the hospital were semi regular so next time he was going to muster courage to ask her out.

"Doctor and social worker... does that work?"

"Probably better than policeman and advertising executive."

"Why?"

"Well, we're both caring professions."

"And we're not?"

Ben tilted his head and gave a wry grin. "Think about it."

Adrian grumbled all the way to the theatre about his friend's pejorative point of view of his job. He desperately tried to argue some redeemable qualities of policing and the advertising industry. The latter was near impossible. Even while they were stocking up on popcorn, he was growling some contention that police were community minded.

"They...they provide educational programs...They..."

Adrian froze. Mid-sentence he stopped and stared across the foyer. Ben was busy buying some soft drink and didn't notice his friend's paralysis.

On the other side, wending their way into another cinema, was Candace and a companion. She was wrapped in the clutches of a tall, dark haired man; both were chuckling. His chiselled facial features showed briefly as he turned and kissed her forehead. She reciprocated by drawing him nearer with an arm about his waist. He watched them disappear down the dark corridor.

Adrian was numb. A vacuous ache in his stomach made it difficult to breathe. Questions flooded his mind. Working? She lied? Was this the end?

Sounds seemed muffled amidst his tumultuous emotions. Ben's hand shook his shoulder.

"Ade...you all right? You look like you've seen a ghost."

"Yeah," he grated.

"We better go in...it's starting soon."

"Yeah." He was more deflated now. A prison film would match his mood.

The plot and drama of the film vaguely penetrated but the thing he would always remember about the Shawshank Redemption was that it was the day Candace dumped him. By the conclusion, when he should have been exhilarated with the poetic justice dealt to the villain and the triumph for the protagonist, Adrian was no longer merely heartbroken. He now swung haphazardly from despair to seething rage, to maudlin reminiscence, and back to being pathetic.

When Ben quizzed him on his moodiness he mumbled something about feeling off. He couldn't admit to being dumped. It portrayed him as pitiful and he wouldn't cope with Ben's consolation. Especially since, for almost the whole year, he'd been crowing about his attractive girlfriend.

Normally, he'd ask his friend in for a coffee but this night Adrian said he was going straight to bed. It was a convenient lie to escape scrutiny and wallow in his woes.

"Hope you're not coming down with anything," declared Ben through the car window as he was heading to his unit.

"I'll be fine. Just need a good sleep I guess," he called back as he waved. Ben drove off unsure what had happened that night. Was he such bad company?

One thing that Adrian didn't get that night was a good sleep. He tossed and turned, running the incident through over and over in his mind. How would he confront her? Part of him wanted to avoid the encounter completely. Call it ego or inflated pride but he even contemplated ringing Candace and telling her he was dumping her. That was bravado that was fanciful. He wouldn't be so blatant. He'd say maybe they should step back a bit and evaluate the relationship. Or, he'd say, he wasn't certain where they were heading. Another part of him didn't want to let her off the hook. He wanted to corner her on 'how work went' and then challenge her about her deceit.

Still awake in the early hours of the morning, Adrian abandoned his anger and admitted he was hurt. Maybe they could reconcile, make up and start again. Maybe he could pretend it didn't happen and be more attentive. It still gnawed away at him. A restive sleep finally came.

By morning he was jaded and grumpy. Work was going to be a chore. He hoped an exciting case would distract him and dull the pain he was feeling. His unit, not far from the bay, allowed for a jog along the seashore. It was the first time that he felt life wasn't sticking to the script. In a couple of years he was meant to have a great wife, a great career as a senior detective and have enough saved so he didn't have to rent his father's investment unit.

Tasks at work were mundane. The last of his paperwork was completed. He was asked to sit in on a procedural integrity meeting where they were reminded again about non-violence and accountability when it came to treatment of suspects. Adrian was content with his own approach knowing that his success in interviews was largely due to outsmarting suspects. But he also knew that the squad culture had, over the years, been built on intimidation and rough treatment during interrogations. He cringed, sometimes, at the way the squad had their own motif or crest they used on paperwork and swaggered around like hardnosed New York detectives. Because he didn't align himself with the thuggery—what they referred to as 'law enforcement'—he was a bit on the outer. Only his superior, Detective Senior Sergeant Wilcox, appreciated him. It was not because of his passivity because Wilcox was as wild and woolly as the rest of them. It was because he had a knack for discovering clues, using deductive reasoning, suggesting plausible scenarios and solving crimes.

So Adrian worked closely with the senior sergeant and was shielded from overt ragging by Wilcox's fearsome reputation. His boss was the key beneficiary of the arrangement because he got the kudos when arrests were made. All that being the case, Adrian still knew that this undisciplined squad would be brought to heel one day. He was hoping he was gone before it came to a head.

After the meeting, when the team had dispersed with fluent grumblings and curses out of earshot of the brass, Adrian consigned himself off to the files and paging through past cases still open. Most of his contemporaries hated old cases since they meant a lot of legwork and reviewing evidence and it involved little crime scene excitement. He sat quietly and wrote notes on possible courses of action. The others strung out the appearance of being busy, feigning completing case write ups when, in essence, they were finished. A few griped quietly over the bureaucracy's lack of understanding of the reality 'on the street'. 'You just couldn't pussy-foot around with hardened criminals'; and if an innocent got caught in the rough and tumble of the law...well that was unfortunate.

***

Half an hour before the end of work, Adrian gave Candace a call at work.

"Hi, it's me." There was a slight pause and he wondered if Candace was deciding 'which me' was calling her.

"Oh, hi Ade."

His throat constricted as he tried to sound natural.

"So...can we get together tonight? I mean...I think we need to meet."

"I'm not sure. I think I have to work."

"Like last night." He'd said it before even thinking. Bottled up inside him was a simmering fury.

"You don't have to say it like that. You work late too you know." The duplicity galled him.

"How was the movie?" Adrian couldn't help himself now.

"What?" There wasn't the same indignation this time.

"I saw you and the guy you were with working real hard."

A momentary hesitation indicated Candace knew she had been sprung.

"Well...I can explain...You've been so busy lately that...that when Jarrod asked me out...well...I thought I deserved a break—"

"Fine...if it's a break you want...goodbye..."

"Ade..." Adrian slammed the headset into its cradle. Several heads around the office looked up at the violent conclusion of the conversation.

'Argh!' was the cry of angst ringing in his head. He hated public spectacles. Also, he hated the idea of losing control, and he had lost it this time. He had spiralled into a death spin without any warning.

He burrowed in his draw as if looking for something and when that ruse had run its course he collected the files he had been reading and strolled over to the filing room again. Now it took an inordinate amount of time to correctly replace them. He took so much time that the next shift had arrived and had settled in as he prepared to leave.

***

Adrian was at home brooding. It was ostensibly a day off, though he was on call. Several messages had been left on his phone by Candace saying she was sorry, they should get together and talk, and what they had was too precious to lose over a little misunderstanding. He ignored them all. The betrayal he felt, the intimacy he'd seen between her and Jarrod and the lies she'd told all condemned her. He had opened up to her and become vulnerable. Now he was desolate.

Moping and sighing and wondering what would happen to the ideal future he had envisioned for Candace and himself made him even more upset. He tried to read. He thought about giving his parents, who lived on a relic historic property in one of the older suburbs, a call. He stalled because there would be awkward questions about Candace. He wasn't prepared to get pity or sympathy while the wound was so raw. He watched mindless daytime television without registering what he was watching. For most of the day he thought ahead and feared the night. It was then his mind would replay endless versions of what he should have said or done to remedy the situation.

Answering the phone changed his night dramatically. A robbery in the city summoned him. He changed quickly and turned up at MetroBank. Before exiting the car he put a police notice on his dashboard and then hastened to the crime scene. Police tape surrounded the building. A uniformed constable guarded the entry. He flashed his ID as he went in. Wilcox was talking to a group of detectives. They all had dark suits, something Adrian didn't conform to. He wore a grey suit and pale blue shirt. He approached the group. His individualism irked the others and a few pulled away from the huddle in a clear demonstration of their distaste of him.

It must be said that Wilcox wasn't a fan of his young renegade either. When Adrian first started working in the squad, he saw him as his protégé. But now, a couple of years in, the young prodigy was more and more distinguished by his peculiarities. For instance, while everyone else discussed the evidence and consulted the forensic experts, it was said Burton would wander slowly around the crime scene in a reflective trance, as if, somehow, a video recording of the evidence was being filmed by his brain.

That being said, the detective senior sergeant wasn't about to alienate his bright spark investigator. With the credit going to him from the super, he was sitting pretty. Adrian walked up to him. To an outsider it may have looked strange. The older man greeted the younger and then Wilcox began to brief his junior.

"It's gotta be an inside job Ade. They knew the combinations. They knew about the keys. The power went off to the bank and the alarms. The timer would have secured the safe if they'd been half an hour later. It was split second timing. They were pros. We're taking the staff one by one for interviews. Ken and Jack are doing background checks on them all. There may be a link, family and stuff, to some criminal element."

All the while Adrian nodded, more to acknowledge his boss's words than to take on board everything he said. He was about to head off when Wilcox grabbed his arm. "I don't think you'll find anything this time. They all had gloves and masks and sawn-off shotguns. They came in right on closing time, emptied the safe of cash and drove off in what looked like a bank armoured car."

"How much did they get?"

"Not sure yet. The manager says about six million."

Adrian whistled. "I saw an ambulance leave as I arrived. Someone hurt?"

"One of the tellers picked up a phone and got beaten for his troubles. Nothin' too severe...they took him for observation."

Despite the fact that his superior had said he'd find nothing, Adrian walked slowly into the back offices. Forensic police were taking photos. Curtin was getting details about the four robbers in the bank from the manager. He was trying to determine if there was anything distinctive about the way they spoke and the way they moved. Adrian looked around the main office. It was unremarkable and, largely, undisturbed. In the security room there was a vault at the back of the room. It was still open and another photographer was taking pictures.

He moved to the vault and looked in. Several cash boxes were upended, stray notes were on the floor, one box had marks from a bolt cutter and two boxes were unopened.

"Disciplined," murmured Adrian.

"What was that?" asked the photographer, thinking he was speaking to him.

"Nothing."

He exited and looked about the small security room with the heavy door. There were filing cupboards on both sides, untouched. A computer sat on a table to one side. The chair was tucked in. A large picture of some dark forest with a mountain landscape in the background hung above and to the right of the doorway. A clock was above the door. It now showed six thirty pm. The picture was a little askew. He wanted to straighten it but knew that the less he touched the better. It was a funny compulsion he had. He wouldn't call himself obsessive but he often found himself straightening things that were out of alignment.

Next, Adrian examined the grey carpeted floor and then slowly turned and looked back at the vault again. For once nothing jumped out at him. Surely collusion with a bank staff member was the most likely explanation. He studied the return journey to the customer service desk. There he saw smudges of blood from the injured teller. He looked up surprised to see the super looking at him while talking to Wilcox. He overheard his boss talking.

"Yeah...he wanders around...thinks he's a Sherlock Holmes type. But...well...I think it's good to give the men a bit of leeway...gets the best out of them." Superintendent Glenn grumbled something out of Adrian's hearing and Wilcox replied.

"Yeah...I know it's important to get on top of this quick before the trail goes cold. It's gotta be an inside job."

At the teller's station, Adrian scanned the bank. What would he have seen? What did he know of the security arrangements inside? Could they have done something to thwart the robbery? He went to each of the stations and then back into the office and asked himself the same questions. Adrian replayed the event, as he would have done it, in his mind. 'Pulled up in an armoured car. Rushed the bank, locking the door behind them. Threatened everyone with shotguns. Made them lie down. Three would enter the back office and demand the keys—did they know who to ask? Somehow, they knew the combination. The timer wasn't due to engage for another half hour.' Adrian wondered how many customers were still inside. He continued reconstructing. 'They opened the vault. Used bolt cutters to open cash boxes and removed stacked cash from shelving in the vault. Sticking to a plan, the robbers stopped when a time limit was reached. At some point the teller grabbing the phone was hit. They exited with bags full of money, and drove off.'

He closed his eyes momentarily. They must have known or anticipated a recent delivery of cash in locked security boxes. Wilcox was right. Everything pointed to an insider. The super had gone over to talk to the head of forensics at the scene and Wilcox came over to him.

"Well?"

"It'll be interesting to hear what the witnesses have to say."

"No idea, hey?" scoffed his boss.

Adrian merely smiled. It was a strange relationship. He was petted for information and then ridiculed when he didn't provide a magic solution.

"Come on," said Wilcox gruffly. "Let's go and do some real police work."

***

Back at the station several interviews were starting. Most were preliminary statements that would be followed up by more intensive questions the next day. Adrian sat in on the interview with one of the female tellers. She was fair haired—not naturally— and in her early twenties, which made her the youngest member of staff. Her name tag on her stripy bank shirt said Angie Grant. She had a pleasant face but Adrian thought she had overdone the eye makeup. Angie had been working next to Graeme Blackburn, the teller still in hospital.

After she had given her version of the robbery—which was fairly consistent with the way he imagined it to be—Detective Bauer began asking questions about the men, the guns and whether she knew the vault combination.

"Do you have any questions Burton?" asked Bauer.

Adrian leaned forward. "Miss Grant, did you see Mr Blackburn reach for the phone?"

"Yes."

"When did he do that?"

"Just after they shouted 'Everyone down on the floor'." She shuddered as she said it.

"Had he started dialling?" Bauer rolled his eyes at the direction the questioning was going.

"Er...I think so...I can't be sure."

"What did they hit him with?"

"The back of the hand."

"Where did they hit him...what part of the body?"

"It was his face. I think they gave him a blood nose."

Adrian twisted his mouth thoughtfully. "When was the last cash delivery to the bank?"

"This morning."

"Did you or any other staff have private phone calls today?"

She wasn't slow. Her eyes opened wide and she protested, "What are you saying?"

"I'm not saying anything Miss Grant. We're just after information. Were there private calls?"

"I suppose so. There usually are a few. The accountant doesn't like us using the phones for personal stuff, though."

"Did you make a private call?"

"A short one...to my boyfriend...about going out tonight. Oh, I'd better call him and cancel."

Her reaction made Bauer smile. Adrian churned at his own personal calamity and humourlessly rose and thanked her, before leaving for a strong coffee.

Wilcox updated the team before they called it a day. "Any revelations from the interviews...the crime scene?" He looked around and his gaze dwelt on Adrian. A few heads also turned to look at him. "Anything Burton?" he asked pointedly.

"Nothing obvious, senior sergeant," Adrian replied. He hated being put under the microscope.

"Right...well...we've had an APB out for the armoured truck...no sign yet. We'll do intensive interviews tomorrow. Anyone have a preference...and don't all request the chick." He gave a guttural laugh.

"I'll talk to Blackburn if he's here," volunteered Adrian.

"He'll be here. Don't think you'll get much from our wannabe hero." After that the interviews were allocated along with some ribbing about what 'Burton would learn' from the beaten up teller.

"Knuckle prints," suggested one.

"Was the punch right handed or left handed?" joked another.

Wilcox didn't help matters when he brusquely defended him. "When you guys have his strike rate then you can be smart mouths."

He spent a couple of hours perusing interview notes before sitting at his desk. There he drew connectivity diagrams and listed several brainstorm scenarios. He glanced at them. Some were far-fetched, others had some fundamental shortcomings and a few were obviously based on direct complicity by bank staff.

Heading off home, Adrian was still in the zone. Cases like this spurred his imagination. These criminals had planned and schemed. Somehow they had gained information necessary to confound bank security measures. They weren't like midnight thieves or smash and grab or small stakes armed robbery. This was daylight robbery. They had done their homework. He tried to emulate the thinking of the offenders.

It was only at home replaying the tape answering machine that the mess of his shattered relationship flooded his emotions. Candace wanted him to call. She wanted to meet him and explain—they had to talk. Images in his memory of her and Jarrod embittered him. He wasn't the sort of person to forget something like that. Maybe he hadn't been as devoted or considerate of her as he should have been, but she lied!
Chapter 2

Another restless night made going to work that much harder the next morning. He interviewed Graeme Blackburn soon after arriving. The man had a plaster on his nose and his eye was an interesting shade of blue. Gilbert sat in on the interrogation. He was new and asked Adrian what routine he was going to use.

"We'll ask him questions and he'll answer them—truthfully I hope." Having heard the rumours of pressuring suspects and breaking their stories, the young detective was taken aback a bit.

Adrian's approach was subtle. He explained to the teller how the interview process worked, they were being recorded. Detective Hauser would take notes and he would get a copy. It was solely to get as much information as possible. He had Blackburn talk about himself, how he liked his work and what his aspirations were.

"What made you pick up the phone?" he queried, switching abruptly to the action of the raid.

"Er...well, we were being robbed. I thought maybe I could call triple zero."

"Did you dial it?"

"No...I was hit before I had the chance."

"Do you know if the phone was working?"

The teller shook his head. "No...sometimes if the power goes off they still work."

"Did you make any private phone calls during the day?"

"No."

"Do you know the combination to the vault?"

"No. Only Mr Callan, the manager...the assistant manager and the accountant know the combination."

"Do you know who has the keys?"

"The same three...but Frank, the accountant, he's the one who usually gets them to open the security door."

"How do you know that?"

"I've heard Mr Callan or Gerry ask him."

At that point Adrian leaned back and stretched. He asked Blackburn if he'd like a coffee and got Gilbert, who had been writing furiously, to fetch them all hot drinks. While Gilbert was away Adrian inclined forward, lowered his head and confided with the teller.

"You know in robberies like this, almost every time there's an insider. We're trying to work out which one of you could have aided and abetted the criminals."

Blackburn's eyes grew wider. "It wasn't me. They roughed me up."

"Yes...I can see that. Who do you think is most likely?"

"No one. They're my colleagues. I trust them. They wouldn't help anyone rob the bank."

"But if you had to name someone. Who could possibly have helped the robbers?"

He squinted at Adrian with a doubtful expression. "Theoretically...if I had to name names, it would be the three people who knew the combination...but it's not possible. They couldn't have done it."

"How can you be so sure?"

Gilbert came in with the hot drinks and noticed that the teller looked a little flustered.

"Do you want me to write any of this?"

"No, we're just getting opinions. It's being recorded anyway." He gave a steely stare at Blackburn and then continued.

"Gil..." said Adrian. "Who knows for sure the people involved in this robbery and who isn't?"

The young detective looked stumped for a moment. "Uh...I guess the people who robbed the bank."

There was panic in Blackburn's face. "Wait a minute...you know what I meant...I mean...I suppose it's possible one of them is involved."

"Who's most likely?"

"Frank...or Gerry...Maybe...maybe one of them has money problems."

"Do you have money problems?"

"No...I mean, I have a mortgage and all...we're not well off but we get by."

"So...a cut from the robbery would be handy?"

"No...no," he insisted. "I'm just a teller. I don't know anything about combinations. I wouldn't rob a bank."

"That's not what I asked," Adrian stated dourly. "Would the money come in handy, Graeme?"

The teller looked at him with a leery expression. "You're trying to trick me. Everyone wants more money but...but I wouldn't get involved in anything illegal,"

"Do you ever lie on your tax claims?"

"What's that got to do with anything? I was the only one who tried to do anything about the robbery. You can't seriously think I had anything to do with it."

"Just saying...some people will do something illegal if they think they can get away with it."

Gilbert Hauser was fascinated by Adrian's approach. No threats. No shouting or barrage of accusations. He was a psychological gnat, annoying, aggravating and finally getting under the skin.

Adrian stretched back again. "Do you have anything further to add, Mr Blackburn? This may be the only chance you get. Anything about the robbers?"

"No...their faces were covered...they shouted a lot."

"What did they say?"

"Stuff like...'Get down on the floor, don't move and you won't get hurt."

"Did you think they might shoot?"

"They sounded angry, dangerous...yes I think they might have shot someone."

"Yet you made a grab for the phone."

"It was stupid...I didn't think...they could have shot me." He put his face in his hands as if the realisation just struck him.

"Yes, you were lucky they only hit you." Adrian patted him on the shoulder. "That'll be all for now Mr Blackburn. Be available. We may need to talk to you again."

He looked up. "I can't believe you suspect me."

"Graeme," Adrian said sternly. "Every staff member will be interrogated. Count yourself lucky that you got me and Detective Hauser.

"Can I go?" He looked uncertain.

Adrian gestured to Gilbert to explain. "You can go home but you are required to stay in the area and be available for more questions," reiterated the young detective, a longer version of what Adrian had already said.

It was clear that the other interview rooms were still hard at it. The three main suspects—senior bank staff who knew the combination—were put through the mill. The prize being that, with sufficient haranguing, the colluding party would break and confess. Accolades for obtaining a confession were much sought after and led, often, to over enthusiastic questioning techniques.

Because Wilcox had opted to interview Frank Gardiner, the accountant, Adrian would have to recruit someone to partner with. Hauser was pleased to tag along. He hadn't yet built up a tribal hatred of the 'Burton way'. In fact he had heard enough about Adrian's 'dumb luck' to identify, in the senior constable, a more intellectual approach to policing.

In the squad car there was a pause as the junior studied Adrian.

"Where are we going?" asked Hauser.

"Back to the bank."

"I thought we'd finished there."

"They want to open tomorrow so any investigating of the scene has to be finished today. There will still be some forensic squad there I imagine."

"What do you hope to find? Do you have a theory?"

Adrian chuckled. "I have a dozen theories but most of them are untenable. There's 'the invisible man theory', 'the identical impersonator theory', the obvious...'they're in it together theory' and the ever popular, 'the way it actually happened theory'."

Hauser started driving. "Okay, you're having a lend of me. What's so obvious about 'they're in it together'?"

"Do you know what a thought experiment is?"

"Schrodinger's Cat."

"Yeah...I meant more generally."

"What do you mean?"

"So, you use your imagination. It's hypothetical. You're a criminal mastermind and you want to rob a bank. One way would be to convince a manager that if he plays along they could all get rich. It would involve the manager recruiting other staff. If they're all in it then it wouldn't put the suspicion on one person."

"Is that what you think?"

"No...too many variables...too much can go wrong. How do you ensure you're not going to be ratted on? How do you make sure they don't crack under questioning? And how can you guarantee they're not stupid with the way they handle the money?"

"I think you'd make an awesome criminal mastermind," observed Hauser.

Adrian gave a little shake of the head as if to say 'the foolishness of youth; but he was only a couple of years older than Hauser.

They drove a little farther before his temporary partner piped up again. "So what are you looking for?"

"Evidence."

"You wanna give me a hint?"

"To tell you the truth they're only ideas. I don't really know what I'm looking for."

"You don't want to say what you're thinking?"

"That's right."

It was Hauser's turn to shake his head, but his reaction was not so understated.

***

A female officer walked toward them as they approached. Adrian held up his badge as he walked by. He manoeuvred under the crime scene tape and entered the bank. Carey, an older forensic specialist greeted him.

"How's it goin' Ade?"

"Good thanks Carey. You guys finished in the strong room."

"Yeah...pretty much."

"Find anything?"

"No fingerprints...took a glove off to turn the combination, but it was wiped. Did get some fibres...clothing caught on a strong box." He examined the detective. "What are you thinking?" He knew something of Adrian's deductive abilities and powers of observation. He followed the two detectives into the back office and from there into the strong room with the vault at the back.

Not for the first time Adrian scanned the room slowly. He grabbed a chair and stood on it to look on top of the tall filing cabinets. Then he noticed a small step ladder tucked away and used for the sole purpose of accessing the high file drawers. The other two watched silently as he got off the chair, strode to the step ladder and took it over to the large picture on the wall.

He stood there for a second before asking the forensic man for some gloves. Once he had those on he pulled a face as if to say 'here goes'. Climbing to the top allowed him to grasp the picture and swing it sideways. There, behind where the picture had been was a recess gouged out from the dry wall plaster.

"Wait!" ordered Carey. "I'll get my camera." He dashed out and came back a minute later with the camera around his neck. He took one photo of the picture being held back to reveal the recess.

"Could you replace it for a second?"

Adrian obliged and he took another couple of snaps. Then he drew the chair up, stood on it, and had Adrian tilt it away again. Several photos later he questioned, "Now what?"

"Now we take the picture down and examine it."

He handed the picture down to Carey who had got off the chair, and quickly got down himself. Adrian then relieved him of it and took it over to the table. On the back he peeled a bit of tape on a piece of the picture back to reveal a hole.

"Well I'll be blowed," remarked the forensic scientist.

"How did you know?" asked Hauser.

Adrian loved these moments when a hunch pays off. "Okay...suppose, just to be different, we assume everyone is telling the truth. How do the crims find out the combination? One way would be to put a camera in here. Eventually, you would get the information you needed."

"And you think Blackburn organised this camera?"

"I doubt if he knows about it."

"I was sure you were gunning for him."

"I still think he's caught up in this but indirectly. He thinks he's far enough removed to avoid suspicion."

Hauser looked as if his brain was hurting. Cary had a gleeful smile. He was beginning to anticipate where the trail led.

"You're going to have to spell it out for me."

Adrian grinned. "Who has access to banks after hours?"

A slight delay as the question sank in was followed by an abrupt response. "Cleaners!"

"I would suggest that the cleaners are the most likely people to put a camera here. But it's still an open question."

Carey, who had taken more photos, wanted to contribute to the scenario so he decided to ease the conflict in the novice's mind.

"So...if you look at the picture, they have the hole in the darkest part of the scene...and when the camera's removed, they replace the detached bit. I imagine they had a timing device to start the camera. Those cassettes don't last forever."

"No...I imagine they had a few goes at it before they got what they wanted. A real professional group—they were meticulous, patient and they probably had the information for a little while and then watched the branch for an armoured car delivery." Adrian was filling in the gaps.

Houser's head was spinning. "So what role would Blackburn have?"

"That's what we're going to find out."

"Are you going to let Wilcox know?" There was a glint in Carey's eyes as he said it.

"After I talk to Alex Callan, the manager, we might have something more substantial." He forced a toothy grin and said to Hauser. "Come on Gil...we've got some questioning to do."

***

At the police station most interviews were winding up. Wilcox was still attempting to intimidate the accountant. Detective Grundy emerged from a room where Callan was being interviewed.

"Are you finished?" asked Adrian.

"Sure Burton...you run out of questions for your man?" he uttered snidely.

"Do you mind if I have a chat with him?"

"A chat...A chat? ...Is that what you think this is? And what makes you think you can get something out of Callan if I can't." He stood to his full height and looked pugnacious.

"Well then...you've got nothing to worry about, do you?" he replied brightly.

"You smarmy..." he made as if to thump Adrian.

"Shane!" yelled Donaldson, who was standing outside another interview room sipping his coffee. "He's not worth it. You'll get yourself drummed out."

Grundy sagged visibly. He hated the success of the newcomer. The university educated geek had been there for almost two years and he was already indulged by Wilcox. Burton didn't fit, he didn't belong.

"Wallace is taking his statement. You can go in when he's finished. Knock yourself out." He said it in a fed up, I-don't-care tone. Adrian and Hauser went for a coffee while Wallace was finishing off. They watched from an observation window as Callan looked peevishly at his watch.

"Can I go now? You've wasted half of my day."

"Just wait. I'll get you a copy of this and then you can go." Wallace was surly because he'd been left with the paperwork.

As he left Adrian and Gilbert slipped in.

"Ah...Mr Callan I have a few more questions for you."

"You're kidding..." He rubbed his forehead. "...Go on then," he moaned.

"Have you made any changes to your cleaners over the last year?"

He looked up a little bewildered. "Cleaners? Well...yes...we changed them a few months back. The last lot were sloppy. Our new cleaners do a great job."

"Where did you get them? What's the company name?"

"Er...they're called J&J Cleaning. Just a small company. Why do you want to know?" The bank manager was intrigued now.

"Oh...just covering all the bases. They may have noticed something...Maybe people watching the bank." Callan nodded thinking that sounded reasonable.

"Who put you onto them?"

"Ah...Graeme, I think. Yes...said he knew of some good cleaners when I mentioned I wasn't happy with the ones we had."

"Right...Have you got a contact number?"

Callan pulled a small pocket diary out of his top pocket and fingered through the pages. He read the number as Hauser wrote.

Adrian took a deep breath and smiled broadly. "Thank you Mr Callan, you have been a great help." They bustled out of the door. At interview room one, Frank Gardiner was red-faced and mopping his brow. Wilcox was standing with arms on his hips. Bannerman was stretching his arms behind his neck as if the constant probing was taking its toll on him as well. Adrian rapped the window with his knuckles. Wilcox spun around in annoyance and then realising he couldn't see who was there, barged out.

When he saw Adrian he growled, "What Burton?"

"Sir...I think we have a breakthrough."

"Well...what is it?" He was snarky, feeling that his underling had trumped him again.

"I think the cleaners of the bank are implicated."

"How would they know what the combination is?" He had a look of disbelief.

Hauser stood by his shoulder trying not to look amused but inside he was highly entertained by that I-know-something-you-don't mind-set.

For fear that his boss would blow a gasket if he had to eke out the whole story, Adrian tried to calm his irritation. "Come to your office and I'll tell you what we've found out."

"Does anyone else know about this?"

"No...we just found out ourselves." He knew Wilcox was concerned that someone else was announcing a breakthrough. That was his prerogative.

In the office, Adrian began. "The cleaners had probably placed a camera in the strongroom directed at the vault."

"Probably?"

"We found a cavity in the wall behind a picture. It was big enough for a video camcorder. It stands to reason. We found out from Callan that the cleaners were recently appointed and he told us that they were recommended by Graeme Blackburn."

Wilcox was processing the information, and, to his credit, recognised that Adrian already had a plan of action.

"So, what do we do? How do we find these cleaners? If they were involved, they'd be long gone by now."

Callan gave us a phone contact. We could find out who it's registered to, link them to motor vehicles and put out an APB. They may be sitting tight on the money, waiting till things cool down and then part company and make themselves scarce."

"It's a long shot."

"It's all we've got. Ames is checking the picture for fingerprints and I wouldn't be surprised if the tape on the back of the picture has a good set. Also, I bet if we have Blackburn's house searched we'll find a wad of cash that he'll have trouble explaining."

"Yes...if he does...he's got some explaining to do." Wilcox was hedging his bets. He hadn't invested in Adrian's theory yet.

Adrian envisioned Wilcox brow beating the young teller to confess after laying out the story of his recommended cleaners and the conspiracy he was connected with.

"Okay, let's call in the team and tell them what we've discovered. I'll organise a warrant for Blackburn's place after I talk with him. We'll get Grundy and Wallace to trace the address and organise a raid."

"Yes sir," returned Adrian. The spoils would go to his cronies. He was used to that. He was still an outsider. Well that was fine with him.

At Wilcox's demonstrative 'hoy' to the detectives they all trooped into the operations room. Adrian sat on the back row and Hauser went next to him. The senior sergeant quieted them down as if they were a class of noisy students. "Quiet...and listen," he shouted. The ruckus dropped to a murmur quickly. "Right...we've had some breakthroughs. I want to get you all up to speed." Another wave of mumblings indicated that no one had a clue what he was talking about. Usually the exultant investigator announced, with significant bravado, their progress to a solution. A couple of resentful glances went backward anticipating the origin of the breakthrough.

"All right...all right...settle. Forensics are now examining a wall cavity in the bank which probably housed a camera. This suggests that no one shared the combination. We've got the phone number of a newly appointed cleaning company that probably are involved. Grundy and Wallace, I want you to trace the owners of the number and organise a raid. I'll interview the teller Blackburn to determine his links to the cleaners." This time several heads turned to stare at Adrian, aware he had selected the teller as fertile ground for information. Adrian was studying his knees, keen not to gain more enemies by looking triumphant.

"Bauer, you and Rixon organise a search warrant for Blackburn's place. We think he's been paid off to recommend the new cleaners...but just wait for his confession about that." Already, Adrian was thinking about the rough treatment the young teller was going to get for a bad choice. He figured a good lawyer might argue he was naïve and foolish but not intentionally complicit in the robbery.

"The rest of you, make sure your statements are all up to date, be available to Grundy and Bauer but otherwise work on some cold cases." That was tantamount to telling them they could bludge for the afternoon.

"How do you put up with this?" whispered Houser.

"So long as the job is done, it's no big deal," sighed Adrian. "You know what they say; 'you can't fight city hall'."

"What are you going to do?"

"I'm going to read the other interview notes...just to get a feel for the other points of view."

"What...even though they're chasing after a group of cleaners that you identified as implicated in the crime...why?"

Adrian wrinkled his nose. "Think of it as me building up a data bank so that next time this happens I can link the details." The other chuckled and shook his head.

"Do you mind if I join you?"

"Feel free."

With sandwiches from the corner shop the two detectives ploughed through the statements. Apart from the questioning being a bit pedestrian—to Adrian's thinking—there was very little that appeared to be new. Then something jumped out at him. When Callan was being interviewed, he said he protested to the robbers asking who had told them the combination numbers and one thug joked, "You did." The other one told him to be quiet.

Hauser heard him suck in his breath before muttering thoughtfully. "What have you found Ade?"

"Another possibility...It...it makes me think I should check something out." He returned the copies of the notes to the folder and stood. "Gil, will you get copies of photos of the strong room for me please. I'm going to find Callan's home address."

"Callan?" he said as Adrian left the room.

***

Adrian was driving for only a few minutes when he pulled over and parked at a strip of shops. He leapt out of the car and asked for the photos from Hauser. The young detective followed him as he entered a camera store. A young woman was speaking to a customer. A middle-aged man with wire rim glasses came out of a back office. He pushed his glasses up his nose and then asked in a nasally voice, "Can I help you?"

"We're with the police," began Adrian and all eyes in the shop turned to him. He pulled a tight smile. "I'm after some expert advice." The phrase clearly elevated the man's demeanour to one of attentiveness and confidence.

"Well, I'll help if I can," he allowed.

Adrian retrieved the photos from an envelope and found the picture of the vault and its dial from the back of the strong room. "Can you tell me whether it's possible to focus a video camera on that dial from the back of the room?"

"He smiled. "You can focus on it but you won't find one with a magnification to read it."

"So even if I tried to enlarge the image I wouldn't be able to read the numbers."

"That's right. Video cameras are getting better all the time but they're way behind the definition of a still camera."

"Tell me...video cameras record audio don't they?"

"Yes."

"If someone was saying the numbers in the room would it pick it up?"

"Not whispering...but speaking in a normal voice it probably would."

"Mm...thanks."

"Can I ask what this is all about?"

Adrian chuckled. "Probably not...thanks again." He turned and left as quickly as he came in with Gilbert trailing behind giving an apologetic wave to the shopkeepers.

From there they went to Alex Callan's house. It was a largish brick veneer home on a half-acre of a manicured garden property in an expensive leafy suburb. After the third doorbell chime Callan came to the door. There was a slight smell of alcohol on his breath and a whisky tumbler in his hand.

"Yes...ah detective...what's the problem?"

"Just a couple of questions Mr Callan.

Conscious of his glass he spoke apologetically. "Sorry about this. Trying to unwind. I feel like I've been through the wringer today." Then as an afterthought he asked, "Do you want to come in?"

"No, that's fine...we'll be brief," asserted the detective. "And I do apologise for disturbing you at home."

Callan watched as Hauser readied his notebook.

Adrian didn't wait. "Mr Callan, can you recall ever saying the combination numbers aloud to remind yourself of what they are?"

He was immediately defensive. "Are you saying someone overheard me saying them?"

"Is that possible?"

"No...no...we close the strong room door when we open the vault. We get what we need out and we lock it again."

"So you never say the numbers?"

"Well, I might whisper them to myself...but we're in a locked room." He set his jaw and squinted. "You're referring to what I said in the interview...the robber who said I told them the numbers...aren't you?"

"What do you think he meant by that?"

"I don't know." He was becoming more hostile now. "I said as much in the interview."

Adrian paused, compressed his lips for a second and then went on. "Can you think of anyone else saying the numbers out loud to remind you?"

"No..." His eyes opened wider. "Gerald...he's the forgetful one. I had to remind him several weeks ago what the numbers were. Sometimes he says them out loud."

"Would anyone have heard him?"

"No...I told you the room is locked while we do it and it's a heavy door."

"What do you think about...Mr Vincent, isn't it, saying the numbers?"

"I tell him he should find a way to memorise them. But he complains that he's not allowed to write them down. He says he's not great remembering numbers."

"He works in a bank!" declared Hauser with a look of disbelief.

On the way back to the station Hauser asked, "So...do you think Vincent's tied in with this?"

Adrian pouted for a second. "What do we know? From their testimonies, Gardiner and Vincent were told to lie face down on the floor of the strong room. Callan was forced to get the keys which are engaged before the dial is turned. They threatened the manager when he didn't hurry. They then used the combination to open the vault. Gardiner was made to manhandle the strong boxes to the floor. Callan was made to lie on the floor and they emptied the vault. Vincent was a mere spectator of the whole thing."

"Is that a yes?"

Adrian gave a breathy snort. He didn't like making definitive statements or conclusions without compelling evidence. "Let's say it leads to some interesting questions."

It was now Hauser's turn to be sceptical. "If Vincent was involved, he could have just told the robbers the combination."

Adrian nodded. "And maybe he did. But think about it. If that's all he did, we would have concentrated on the inside job theory. By having a camera planted, it suggests that there was no need for someone on the inside. And...by having Blackburn recommending the cleaners it further throws us off the scent...if he's implicated."

The junior detective still looked bemused. "So, explain to me why he goes to the trouble of audio recording."

"Okay...here goes...thought experiment... I want it to be a rational possibility that the numbers could be known without my help. If I achieve that, it's less likely that I become a suspect. When the video proves not to be viable, I realise the authorities will work this out as well. So, I find a way to record the audio of the numbers so that my innocent repetition is recorded by those crafty criminals."

"You are seriously criminally inclined," remarked Hauser.

"The big problem is to prove intent and complicity. I mean Blackburn may have been blithely ignorant of the fact that by accepting money to recommend this cleaning company he was contributing to a felony, but Gerald Vincent is very shrewd if he has crafted this crime."

Chapter 3

It was a busy day. The address to the cleaning company's listed phone number was a very recently vacated flat. A bit of research suggested the names of the occupants appeared to be false. The descriptions of the renters, provided by the landlord, were reasonable but could have matched a large proportion of the male population. And in a subsequent search of the surrounding area, no sign was found of the money, the armoured van or the offenders.

Confirming Adrian's suspicions, Blackburn admitted to being paid five thousand dollars to recommend a cleaning company he knew nothing about. His excuse was that he thought they needed the work.

The next day things had slowed down in the station. Graeme Blackburn had been dragged in again to get him to make a full confession but he now had a lawyer and little progress was being made.

While Adrian and Hauser worked their angle, Wilcox and the majority of the crew were confirming that something had been stowed in the wall cavity, that the previous cleaners were adamant that someone was sabotaging their work, and that it wasn't clear what they could charge the teller with. 'Conspiracy to commit an indictable offence' was most likely but establishing an intention to commit the crime was problematic at this stage.

The bank had opened with relief staff, though the manager had also turned up and was trying to assure some elderly worried customers that their deposits were guaranteed by the bank. After conferring with Carey Judson, Adrian learned that Vincent's fingerprints were on the picture frame. That gave him enough reason to seek a further interview.

Wilcox quizzed him. "So why do you want Vincent?"

"Just some anomalies in the evidence."

"Strike me down Burton, is everyone guilty in your eyes? You give me the heebie-jeebies the way you jump from one suspect to another." Knowing that he couldn't be dismissive of the man's instincts he grew inquisitive. "What is this evidence that piques your curiosity?" He was being sarcastic now.

"Vincent's fingerprints are on the picture frame in the strong room."

Not quite so flippant, he commented, "He does work in the bank...but...go ahead...and tell me what you learn."

Vincent was not home and appeared to have disappeared that morning. Adrian wondered if he'd lost his nerve and decided to run with his share of the ill-gotten gains. By afternoon he was home again and was summoned to the station. The explanation was to 'iron out some inconsistencies with the details'. Adrian's only hope was to bluff the man into making a mistake.

The interview began sombrely. "I don't know if you realise it Gerry...may I call you Gerry? ...but things are developing in this investigation. We have discovered a secret cubby hole where, it is likely, a camera recorded events in the strong room."

"So that's how they did it?"

"Did what?"

"Well...they would have recorded us opening the safe...that's ingenious."

"Not really...you see the camera wouldn't give a close enough image of the numbers."

"Then how?"

"The audio of the camera would have recorded someone saying the numbers. Apparently, you said the numbers out loud."

"I don't recall that."

"No, I didn't think you would. Well, Mr Callan remembers quite well."

"Well I remember him saying them out loud too."

"Ah you do remember...and he said he had to remind you of the numbers."

"Well...how would we know they would record us?"

"How indeed...that is the question."

Adrian paged through a folder of pages in front of him. "Did you ever touch the picture in the strong room?"

"Er...why? Maybe...I don't know."

"It's not a difficult question...we have your fingerprints on the frame of that picture."

"Well I must have then. I probably thought it was a bit crooked."

"Do you have a safety deposit box?" The question stymied him momentarily. It looked like he was assessing what the answer should be.

He became combative. "What's it to you? That's private information. You'd need a warrant anyway."

"So the answer is yes."

"I didn't say that."

"Why else would we need a warrant? Mr Vincent...you're answering like someone who has something to hide."

Observing the assistant manager as he tried to quell his agitation, Adrian noted his clenching jaws, his sweaty palms being rubbed on his trousers and his uncomfortable squirming in his chair.

"Could we see your keys Mr Vincent?"

"No...I know my rights."

"Don't you want us to solve this robbery?"

"You should be chasing the real culprits, not harassing me."

"We could get a warrant...but it will be noted that you were uncooperative."

"I want a lawyer."

Things basically ground to a halt at that point. They held him in custody under suspicion. Adrian managed to convince Wilcox to let him apply for a warrant to search Vincent and his property. The circumstantial weight of his evidence gave cause for the judge to sign a warrant for the search.

The search in turn revealed a key suitable for a safe deposit box and the identifying numbers soon revealed its location.

It was the culmination of the investigation and Wilcox had to be on hand when the money was recovered. He then launched, with a vengeance, into the interrogation to identify his accomplices. Promises of leniency for cooperating eventually had the names of the whole gang. Over the next three weeks all but two of the robbers were captured. While still on alert for the two fugitives with their share of the haul, it had become a general policing pursuit rather than one of investigation and the Armed Robbery Squad were diverted to less glamorous cases.

***

In the excitement and intrigue, Adrian's personal calamity had been overshadowed. Now he wondered whether he was merely angry at Candice's betrayal and not as emotionally shattered as he had first thought. With all the success of the last week he still felt despondent and empty. And though Wilcox garnered the credit and gave interviews, a quiet word from the superintendent delivered recognition that he had been instrumental in solving the crime. He said that he would ensure it was positively recorded in his personnel file.

He spoke to Candice on the phone the following day and told her he wasn't interested in reconciliation. Maybe it was his pride or mistrust or the realisation that she had been more of an ornament than a genuine object of his affection, and in the end he wished her well. She had been tearful. It hadn't been her intention to hurt him, she had only reacted to being ignored. Adrian wasn't prepared to admit any fault, figuring she was trying to justify her own bad behaviour.

The moment he hung up the phone it rang again. His first thought was another robbery but it was unusual for them to contact him when he wasn't on call.

"Yes, Adrian Burton here."

An officious voice replied. "Detective Senior Constable Burton, this is Superintendent Reynolds, Homicide. I would like you to come to my office tomorrow, nine AM. Can you do that?"

"Certainly sir...Homicide at nine."

"Excellent...I'll see you then."

That was it. No explanation, and a request when orders were usually given, although it could have been construed as a polite order. He looked up his police personnel handbook about Reynolds and discovered the history of a decorated investigator who was about to hand the Homicide division of the Crime Investigation Unit to a Detective Inspector Michaels. He was to be appointed head of the whole CIU. Adrian virtually tingled at the thought that he would be speaking to the next commander of the CIU. He had applied for positions three times already and hadn't heard a word back. It had been his goal to use his detective skills in the fabled realm of homicide. All those Agatha Christie novels and following the convoluted logic of Sherlock Holmes had driven him from an early age to pursue a career as a crime investigator.

From mid-morning to mid-afternoon he was at the gym again. Hurting himself with a strenuous routine so that he didn't think and sulk too much. He was oblivious to the glances from daytime patrons. The speedball became the victim of his aggression and a swim to exhaustion was his recipe for gaining some sleep that night.

Contemplating the meeting distracted Adrian from his scheduled housekeeping chores. He considered going to his parents' property to get his washing done but again the daunting task of relaying his relational woes created too big an obstacle to deal with. He rang Ben but his friend was on a late shift at the hospital.

Convinced that he hadn't extracted enough from his body, Adrian weighed his exercise options. Though it was a bit cool, he took his bike out and cycled along the shared beachside path. Normally he'd stop for a coffee at a café but, being a regular, it meant he'd have to be sociable. He wasn't in the mood. Guido would say something like, 'how's that beautiful girlfriend of yours?' or 'solved any cases lately?', and he would lie in a ploy to avoid sympathy or scrutiny. He rode past the café and then, when time demanded that he get back home, he turned about and sprinted back.

***

The night brought intermittent sleep, enough to declare his exercise flurry a success. The new day reminded him of the strenuous ride and had him moving gingerly. It added credence to the belief that history affects us all. His exercise from the previous day wasn't going to be forgotten easily.

The anticipated meeting was in the same building where he worked but in a different section. He asked his way to the super's office. Adrian was about to knock when he was beckoned in with a firm call, "Come in."

"Good morning sir." He waited for the commissioned officer to look up.

"Take a seat Burton." He raised his head and, looking over his reading glasses, fixed a gaze on Adrian's face. "I have been speaking with Carey Judson. He suggests you'd make a good homicide detective."

A nervous smile played across the young detective's lips. The senior man went on. "Have you ever considered applying for a position here?"

Confused, Adrian replied, "Sir...I have applied three times but my letters were never acknowledged."

"Mm...there's no record of your application. We are usually fastidious about such things."

There was a brief silence as Adrian mulled over the connotations of what he'd said.

"I forwarded the applications through my senior sergeant."

"Wilcox...mm...yes...he's a law unto himself," muttered the latter.

"Hearing the stories from Judson, I can see why he didn't want to lose you."

"Sir?"

"I've called him and told him I'm transferring you to homicide. He complained that you're halfway through a case. I suppose that means he hasn't got all the details about the audio evidence."

"Er...If you don't mind me asking...how do you know about that, sir?"

"That new young judge, Louis Forrester, I asked him his opinion about you...thinks you're as sharp as a tack."

Adrian didn't know what to say. He sat transfixed, savouring this favourable turn of events—no more bully boys.

"Well don't just sit there. Go and get your stuff. You start today and that's your desk," he said, pointing to the farthest from the office. "Inspector Michaels is getting this office and everyone is shuffling across. Senior Sergeant Gordon will take his desk...and so on."

'Very...uh...regimented," offered Adrian awkwardly.

"Yes...I know...it's a tradition. Apparently no one's had the nerve to change it. It's been working well, so I didn't touch it either. If you ever get in this chair...and it's a big if...maybe you'll have the guts to change it." He examined a piece of paper on his desk and crustily barked, "Well get going. We don't have all day."

"Yes sir...and...thank you sir."

***

Resentful looks and caustic comments suggested that they were glad to see him go, or that they saw him getting cushy treatment. Perhaps none of them really knew the extent to which Wilcox had sponged off his insights and skills. It was likely that Wilcox had painted him in a bad light, suggesting he was claiming breakthroughs that the squad had made. He had never fitted anyway. It would be a relegated-to-the-past if not a soon-to-be-forgotten chapter of his life.

Only years later would he celebrate the fact that he had emerged from the Armed Robbery Squad unscathed—his reputation intact. It would be then that internal police investigators would close down the squad, citing brutality and violent treatment of suspects, physical coercion to produce confessions and attempting to pervert the course of justice. Its boy's club approach was eventually smashed after a reorganised unit had continued their elitist culture, contemptuous of ethical procedures and it was lambasted by police integrity investigators. They were then replaced by a broader more accountable unit.

***

Days of becoming familiar with procedures turned into weeks of unremarkable cases. Domestic shootings, accidental homicides brought on by alcohol and uncontrolled anger, and the ubiquitous drug related killings dominated. Few required little more than interviewing witnesses or zeroing in on the suspect with motive, means and opportunity. Gordon was competent, not particularly imaginative and pretended to be a stickler for procedure. He demanded others adhere to protocols but it was evident to Adrian that he cut corners. Adrian was consistent with his past mode of operation by being conscientious and running errands as the squad beginner should.

All that changed one sticky early October afternoon. It would be a case that would ultimately change his life. A call came in from a regional police station. A neighbour discovered a woman's body. The husband, a policeman on holiday, was nowhere to be found. Though Adrian asked to join the investigating team and be an active sleuth for a change, he was turned down. The young detective was disappointed because it was the first case with any hint of mystery. However, Gordon preferred his more experienced homicide investigators. He had given it to Lancaster and his team. Two other teams assisted when their availability allowed it. Lancaster was a young and ambitious detective who was good at self-promotion. He had been lucky in a couple of his early cases and was now getting preferential treatment from Gordon.

Sitting at his desk, Detective Burton was called to do background checks and compile dossiers of all the notes detectives, on the scene, sent. This ensured that no data was lost or overlooked and everyone was apprised of the whole picture.

Assiduously, he compiled information. Adrian was gratified that the case notes were extensive. He had determined that the husband, a local police senior constable, had a good reputation, locally, worked a medium sized hobby farm of beef cattle in his spare time, and was a local sportsman. Interviews related that the domestic scene wasn't idyllic but Zane Clements and his wife Benita were considered a 'happy couple'.

It had taken two days to discover that the husband had been up north pig shooting with his mates. Both companions vouched that he had stayed with them on a property near Bourke. Photos of two wild boar they had killed added to the alibi.

Benita, his wife, had been shot and the place ransacked for valuables. The husband had been away four or five days when she had been killed. He came back in shock and appeared, by all accounts, devastated by her murder. He had tried to list valuables that were missing and insisted she had no enemies.

The victim had been pierced with ten-millimetre bullets a number of times. The coroner was still finalising his report but no other visible signs of injuries had been noted. Forensics were compiling their own report on fingerprints, tyre prints and a time sequence scenario of the offender's possible movements. Early theories suggested that a break in had been discovered and gone wrong. The local rural drug scene was such that there would be some desperate addicts trying to get money. To Adrian, the shooting suggested something more sinister. He could envision some wretched user driven to violence to obtain drug money but knives and clubs were more likely, though he didn't rule anything out.

So, robbery was listed as a motive. And if there was something worth stealing, what was it? Her life insurance was also a motive but tying Zane to the murder wasn't possible. Adrian wondered whether the detectives on site had pursued Benita's possible relationships, Zane's possible relationships or any vengeful recipients of rural justice.

***

Adrian was rostered that weekend but it gnawed at him how little he was able to contribute. He had been more active with armed robbery. By the end of the weekend little had cropped up. Four detectives were diverted to a gangland shooting and four were working on a hit run. Gordon came back from the country for the third time frustrated. He was even more displeased after he met with Reynolds.

"The super thinks you're a bit of a hot shot...says I should take you to a crime scene and watch you work." Gordon had curled his lip and there was a denigrating snarl in his voice.

"Yes sir?"

"Tomorrow...you come with me to where Manny Lavis was shot. We have a dozen possible names to follow up but these underworld shootings are notoriously hard to unravel."

"Yes sir."

***

The Monday morning drive to the inner city haunt of the career criminal was short. As Adrian drove, Gordon told him that the victim had been shot inside his home so it was likely the killer was known to him. He paged through notes from the autopsy. "It says here he was hit by four shots to the chest. His clothes and two of the slugs had paper fibres on them. The coroner thinks he may have been holding or reading a newspaper when he was gunned down. Maybe even fired through some cloth to dampen the sound as fibres not matching his clothes were also found."

He looked up at Adrian while the younger man pulled up briefly at traffic lights. "Sometimes you wonder if this stuff is any use."

"I usually find it helpful," countered Adrian quietly. "If only to get a full picture of what they think went on."

"Okay...I'll keep reading...One of the bullets punctured his heart...so he died quickly. The bullets were nine millimetre and, in their opinion, fired by an experienced shooter." He flicked through again summarising. "There's stuff about direction of entry...and...small amounts of GSR found...maybe unrelated to the shooter...which means..." he added in a dour tone, "He probably has done some shooting of his own. And that's why this is a gangland killing."

Adrian nodded, acknowledging the statement but internally consigning the conclusion to the inferential and unsubstantiated categories. "So...Manny had a charge sheet?"

"As long as your arm...from petty larceny to armed robbery and assault. Stayed under the radar recently. Rumour has it that he's been operating as a hit man."

"Any weapons found at his place?"

"No...that'd be handy wouldn't it? Good way of dispatching a few underworld killings if we found ballistics matching a couple of executions."

"Mm." Adrian wasn't too sure what the motives behind the comment were. Improving police crime solving statistics may have been one of them.

Easing up to the kerb, Adrian saw a shortish, lean, muscular man stop walking toward them and then uneasily about turn and make as if he'd forgotten something delving into his pockets as he went. As Adrian got out of the car and walked in the man's direction, the other increased his pace.

"Hey...stop a minute!" Adrian yelled. But instead the interloper leapt into a sports car and sped away.

The homicide detective wrote the registration number down.

"What was that about?" quizzed Gordon.

"Don't know...but I'd like to find out."

Redirecting their attention to the address of the crime, both took a minute to scan the area. The small terrace house was well-tended and, clearly, someone spent time on maintaining the small garden. They proceeded up the path. It was also neat inside. No small sum would have acquired the renovated domicile in that locale. Gordon pulled some photos out of the folder as they examined the scene. Manny had been sitting at the kitchen table and his body had been slumped on its acrylic coated surface. Smear marks suggested something had been dragged away from him.

"Did they find the newspaper?" asked Adrian as he skirted the table carefully.

"No."

'Anomaly number one,' he thought. Why would someone take a newspaper, especially if it had blood on it?

Adrian put on a pair of latex gloves. He peered analytically around the kitchen. The refrigerator indicated that pre-packaged meals were Manny's regular fare. The trash suggested take out also featured. The linoleum on the floor had a small pool of dried blood under where he had been sitting. The cupboards had a limited range of implements and cooking equipment. He wandered into the living room. Considering the limited domesticity exhibited by the occupant, in the range of utensils and cleaning materials, the place was extremely tidy. He studied the bookshelf. It was filled with video cassettes. He moved a few and tapped the wood with his knuckles. He stomped on the carpeted floor and scanned the walls carefully.

Next he walked into the bedroom. The door had been broken.

"Our men?" he queried ironically.

"Yes. It was locked." It was clear Gordon wasn't impressed either. Inside it was messy.

"Was it like this when they found it?"

"So they tell us."

This was his private room. Anomaly two, a single man sleeps in a pig sty but the rest of the place is spotless. A cleaner? His mum drops by?

Again, Adrian examined the room. The wardrobes were thoroughly searched and thumped. He looked at the wooden floor, lifted the rug and examined the boards.

"What are you doing?" whined Gordon. "Forensic have been over this place already."

"Just a hunch..." he bent down low as he studied the skirting board. Then he got down on his knees near a short strip of board between the wardrobe and the wall. A tiny scrape on the floor drew his attention. He grasped the plastic door stop and edged the board away from the wall. It came away more easily than he expected.

Behind the door was a long low gap where a section of the wooden frame had been removed. He pulled a cloth package out and inside was a Glock pistol. The composite lightweight material of the grip belied the deadly effectiveness of the hand gun.

"A killer's weapon. Might help solve a few shootings for you," commented Adrian drily as he pushed it toward Gordon and reached in again. This time he withdrew a calico sack. It contained bundles of notes—hundreds, fifties and twenties—all secured in elastic bands. "His ill-gotten gains," remarked Adrian softly.

"How did you know?" asked Gordon.

"I didn't know...but it stands to reason. You hide money that you steal and extort and pillage. You don't bank it. I guess the gun was a bonus."

Gordon stared at him. He was impressed. He had heard rumours and hadn't believed them; but now that the super had directed his involvement, Gordon had witnessed Adrian's skills first hand.

"You're a freak Burton."

Adrian stood slowly. "I'm not sure how to take that sir."

"I suppose you have a theory?"

"Those who live by the sword, die by the sword."

The observation didn't help Gordon. He sounded impatient. "Which means?"

"Well, Lavis has a reputation for being an enforcer, a hired gun. So the most likely threats to him come from vengeful associates of his victims or, maybe, a customer who decided to get rid of him rather than pay up. It's still a fairly open field."

At an impulse, Adrian got down low and put his face on the floor so he could look in as he felt around from one extremity to the other. Right near the architrave for the door he retrieved a small black book. He opened it fully so the pages would be easier to turn.

"His contact list," he relayed to the senior officer. "There may be some interesting people in here."

Gordon, to his credit, recognised something in his new investigator that others were loath to admit to.

"You know Burton, I'm going to let you run with this. You obviously know what you're doing and I have my daytime squad to supervise."

"Thank you sir." He was grateful. In the back of his mind a cynical voice suggested that the senior sergeant didn't really enjoy being out in the field.

As a matter of form, Adrian requested that someone from forensics come and photograph the cache of money, gun and notepad. He wanted them to analyse and tag the evidence for future reference. This peeved Gordon who was eager to regain the familiar walls of bureaucracy. His reluctance implied the spreading cancer of loose procedure. It was the reason Adrian involved other sections of the force. He wanted to cover his own back from spurious accusations of corruption and to eliminate the temptation of skimming from criminals' loot before it had been audited. Whether Gordon was tempted, he didn't know, but he heard enough about bent police to keep his investigations above suspicion.

It took a while for the crime scene investigators to arrive so Gordon quizzed him about his last case with the Armed Robbery Squad. Photos were taken and evidence tagged before they left. On the way out he questioned Gordon about the neighbours. The one on the right drew his interest.

"What's so special about Mrs Linley," griped his boss, eager to depart.

"She has a well-kept garden."

Begrudgingly, the senior sergeant accompanied him next door. Mrs Linley had spoken with police already she had said. She had told them she hadn't noticed anything unusual and hadn't heard any shots. She hadn't seen anyone on the night of Manny's murder, but that was because she watched her favourite television show. Sometimes she saw visitors arrive and they often were a rough lot.

When she finished reprising her answers to previous interviews Adrian asked, "Do you look after Mr Lavis' garden?"

"Why, yes...How did you know?"

"I can see a caring and skilful hand has been at work," he complimented. "What about cleaning? Do you do that as well?"

"Well...nobody asked me that before, but, yes, Mr Lavis used to pay me to clean and tidy. The money came in very handy."

"Did he ever let you clean his bedroom?"

"No...It was always locked. He said he'd do that himself. And...I only cleaned when he asked me to."

"Thank you Mrs Linley. You've been a great help."

***

Adrian felt strange for the remainder of the day. He was by himself, writing up the course of the investigation so far. He began brainstorming likely future avenues of enquiry. The isolation he experienced reinforced, to him, why partners and teamwork were essential in his profession.

Chapter 4

Tuesday

Charlie Palmer, a veteran of the squad, was assigned to take on Adrian as his partner. He was pleased because for the last six months, since his previous partner had been pensioned off, he had been relegated to doing the legwork and research for the other teams. His lack of a partner had been the justification. Even though he was a competent investigator, none of the others wanted to work with 'the old fossil'.

When he sat down with Adrian to be briefed on the progress he'd made. He listened. Then he showed unexpected wisdom. "Sounds like you've made more headway in a day than Gunnar and Skip who found out very little over four days. You know, I don't mind if you call the shots."

Adrian did an abrupt double-take, as if to say, 'what's your angle?'

The older man smiled at his reaction. "Yeah...I know...I'm supposed to run roughshod over the new guy...It's not my style. I've nothing to prove. They'll put me out to pasture in a couple of years." Then, as if compensating for his apparent disinterest he added, "I mean...I'll advise and consult, but from what I can tell...you've got a bit of a knack for this stuff."

Adrian outlined his ideas for the way forward.

"We want to speak with some of these contacts in Manny's book. No question that some of them are of doubtful reputation."

"They're crooks," responded Charlie bluntly.

"Problem is, about half have no contact numbers. They have first names or nicknames and notes like... 'meet at the market at 3,' or 'he'll call me'. Those aren't much use to us."

"So what do we do?"

"Work through the numbers we do have and learn as much about Manny as we can. We can hope there's a bit of a domino effect."

***

Their first visit was to an ex-con called Ernie (the stick) Mercurio. He was at his home, in a dressing gown, bleary eyed and abusive. He'd had a hard night and didn't appreciate being dragged out of bed at ten a.m.

Ernie's answers were hesitant and measured. He only cooperated because the alternative was questioning at the station. Yes, he did know Manny Lavis. He'd heard about his untimely death. He would miss him. Not because he was fond of him but because he was useful.

"Why was he useful?" asked Adrian.

Ernie gave a sly grin. "He was real good at reminding customers of their debts."

"What do you provide your customers?"

He appeared pleased. He had a pat answer. "I provide needy people with loans."

"Gambling wouldn't be involved, would it Ernie?" prompted Charlie.

"Oh no detective. That would be illegal."

Adrian asked the obvious. 'You never knew' he thought. One day someone would give him the answer directly. "Would you know who would want to kill Manny?"

"Do angry ants bite?" quipped the double-dealer.

"So he had enemies?"

"Let's just say that people can get stirred up about...lots of things."

Although the two detectives pressed him to expand on his observations, it was clear Ernie had thought he had said enough. He clamped shut.

When they left Adrian asked, "Why the Stick?"

"In his early days, Ernie was very handy with a knife...you know...he'd stick it in." There was a grim expression of Charlie's face. "Now he gets others...like Manny, to do his dirty work."

Adrian patted Charlie on the back. His background knowledge was proving a boon for the young detective.

Their next visit was Ronnie Bonetti. He was a semi legitimate nightclub owner. For him, crime had paid quite handsomely but he was 'going straight now' he would say repeatedly. The swarthy man invited the two into his club. It was still before lunch and there would be nothing untoward for the law to see. He too asserted that Manny was valued and would be hard to replace.

"So that's why your number is in Manny's book?"

"That's right. He works for me sometimes." When asked to be specific about his role Ronnie replied, "Hey, I'm going straight now. He's one of our bouncers. The place can get quite lively late at night and he knows the job."

"You're telling me that it's hard to replace a bouncer?"

"Yup...Manny was one of a kind."

Adrian tried to force the issue, speculating, "He didn't even work for you regularly."

"No...I called him when I needed him...sometimes we're a bit short staffed."

The explanation was flimsy but Adrian knew he wouldn't spell out what police already suspected about the victim—that he used violence to extract allegiance, money, information and, sometimes, retribution.

"So, who killed him?"

"Your guess is as good as mine detective. Doing what he did...well he wasn't the most popular man around."

"Are there any likely culprits...who had a grudge against him?"

Ronnie squinted sidelong at the two policemen. "For the record...I didn't say anything," Both nodded. "The Stinettis have a blood feud with the Gilbertos and...well, Manny was mixed up in that. He did jobs for the Stinettis."

Adrian clarified, "I take it that the Gilbertos are no friends of yours."

"You could say that."

After a cafeteria lunch, Adrian and Palmer went to a northern suburbs bar and pool hall. By all accounts it was the Gilbertos legitimate business. But the suspicion that it was a centre for illicit dealings was the focus of both drug squad and gaming police investigations. It was no surprise that everything appeared above board by the time they entered. Cagey glances from patrons were observed as shots were played, drinks were consumed, smokes were smoked and conversations were had. Palmer, who knew the proprietors by sight and reputation, addressed the bar keeper.

"Hughie...is Joey in? We'd like to have a talk with him."

"Nah...haven't seen him all day."

"What about Nico?"

"Nah."

"When they come in tell them Detective Palmer would like a word with them."

"Sure thing Charlie."

As he was talking, Adrian was sauntering around the tables. A wiry man in a cap kept his back to him and kept edging away.

"Just stop there, I'd like to have a word with you," instructed Adrian firmly. The man dropped his head and began to swivel around. Adrian hadn't seen the pool cue that he had picked up in his other hand. With a rapid swing the cue came crashing down on Adrian's head. As he staggered from the blow and dropped to his knees the sinewy man jostled past and fled out a rear exit.

A jabbing ache disoriented the young detective.

"Are you okay?" Charlie's voice sounded muffled in his groggy state. "We'd better get you to the hospital," he announced as blood stated trickling down the front of Adrian's face.

"What happened?" he managed hoarsely.

"You got hit on the head by one of the Gilberto's underlings...if I'm not mistaken, that was Morrie Martello. I'll put out a call for him."

All the while the small crowd watched, unsympathetic and not willing to get involved. He grabbed a tea towel from the bar and pressed it against the top of Adrian's forehead. As Charlie led Adrian out the murmurs became animated exchanges.

In the car, Detective Palmer asked, "Why did he hit you?"

"Ugh..." His partner winced as another stab of pain made him squeeze his eyes shut. "Ah...I recognised him. He was fleeing from the crime scene yesterday. I guess...I guess he didn't want to answer any awkward questions...ahh."

"Okay...don't talk. We'll get you to emergency."

Charlie put a call through to the hospital to expect an injured policeman. He put out an alert for Morrie Martello and let them know at the station that Adrian had been hurt.

In the hospital, Charlie supported Adrian as he stumbled toward the reception desk. The splash of blood on his suit made the injury look severe. But apart from a pounding headache and slightly blurred vision from blood in his eyes, Adrian was not critically hurt. A doctor and nurse, forewarned of his arrival, were about to usher him into an emergency treatment partition when a girl and a middle-aged man burst into the emergency waiting room. He had a blood soaked towel wrapped around his hand. His face was blanched white and he grimaced with pain. The girl, wearing a grey skirt, white shirt and blue business jacket, was frantic.

"A saw has sliced his wrist!" she exclaimed as they moved toward the reception nurse.

When she saw Adrian, his blood-spattered clothes and streaks of blood down his face her dismay grew.

"Take him in first," commanded Adrian, concerned that the man was already faltering from loss of blood.

"You sure?" The girl looked anxiously at him. He felt warmed and drawn almost immediately by her caring gaze. Adrian nodded, thinking only about the way her face lit up with her hurried grateful smile. Before he could register more of her, the doctors had hustled them in behind the automatic doors.

Charlie led him to a seat where he eased himself down. The appearance of the attractive blonde girl had totally distracted him from his own predicament.

Ten minutes passed before another available doctor led him into a cubical and treated his wound. It required three stitches and then a nurse cleaned him up while the doctor assessed him for concussion. He tried to convince the medic that he was fine but the doctor recommended a night in hospital for observation. Since it was still afternoon, the enforced detainment was an even greater imposition to Adrian. Charlie had gone and promised to drop by his place and pick up some casual clothes for his discharge the next day. His frustration was mitigated when the blonde girl dropped by his room.

"I'm sorry to impose myself on you but I had to come and thank you for what you did for my father."

Adrian smiled, "No problem...Is he all right?"

"Yes, he's all stitched up and recovering now. But he lost a lot of blood and you letting him go before you got him the help he needed."

"I'm glad he's recovering." Adrian was appreciating her comely appearance and was unaware that for the first time she was admiring him, seeing him for the first time cleaned up from the messy wound.

"Are you okay?" she asked.

"Now that you're here I feel surprisingly good."

Her eye lashes batted flirtatiously. "Mm...I think you are recovering aren't you?" She observed his broadening grin. "My name's Alison...my friends call me Ally." She held out her delicate hand. He took it gently into his grasp. "Adrian Burton," he replied. He was unaware that he was still holding her hand as he studied her blue eyes.

"Um...you still have my hand," she said coyly.

He released it. "Sorry."

"Anyway...I thought I'd drop by and thank you and offer my gratitude."

Adrian bit his lip roguishly. "Maybe you'll let me take you out...as an expression of your gratitude?"

She tilted her head and an impish smile dimpled her cheek. "Are you serious?"

"I'm always serious when I ask a pretty girl out."

Ally crossed her arms. "I must say, I haven't met anyone quite as brash as you before. What makes you think I'm available?"

He pointed. "No rings...Are you...available?"

"Well actually...I do have a special friend."

Adrian dropped his head. "O...kay..." She cut him off.

"But...we don't have an exclusive arrangement...so...I'm available Friday night if you like."

He perked up. "Friday night sounds great...I should be out tomorrow."

She took a piece of paper from a hand held clutch and wrote on it. "You might need this." Ally handed him her address and phone number.

He looked at it then looked at her. "So, Friday, seven pm?"

"Uh huh...see you at seven." She wheeled around and left him. Adrian felt strangely elated.

***

Friday night and Adrian was spruced up in neat casual attire. He had a small plaster on his head concealing the stitches. Well-fitting light blue jeans and navy blue short sleeved shirt over white tee was complemented by a light knit grey pullover that was draped over his shoulders. The address was in the outer suburbs, a fair bit farther out than his own parent's place. He eased up the paved driveway lined by fruit trees. The house was set in front of a sizable orchard. In the double carport was a large white utility and a small red Nissan sedan. He deduced that the small car was Ally's. At the door Mr Whittle greeted him. "Ahh the gallant gentleman who suffered longer so I could receive treatment. My sincerest thanks...er...Adrian is it?"

"That's right...Mr Whittle...and my injury was nowhere near as severe." He touched the plaster on the top of his forehead. "And I'm glad you're looking well. How is the hand?" He looked at the heavily bandaged limb.

"Oh, it throbs a bit but it'll be fine...anyway come in. I shouldn't keep you standing out here. Ally will be a few minutes...They always take a bit longer than you expect."

"So...Mr Whittle what do you do?"

"Call me Edwin...I'm a surveyor when I'm not working on the orchard...but I won't be doing any outdoor work for a while...not with this healing." He held up the wrapped hand supported by a sling.

"And Ally tells me you're a detective...with homicide?"

"Yes...that's right...though I don't remember telling her."

Edwin chuckled. "She has her ways."

"Mm...well, I won't be back at work till next week. Apparently I have shown symptoms of concussion."

"Well, your health is most important."

Adrian was thinking how the conversation was spiralling down to becoming inane. He struggled for a new thread.

"So...what other family do you have?" The moment he asked he realised it could be dangerous ground.

"Well...Mrs Whittle, Ally's mother, is in England visiting her sick sister...that's why it was left to Ally to drive me to the hospital. Ally is...an only child. Her mother couldn't have any more after her...so I guess she's spoilt." The words were almost melancholy and forced before he rallied with his question. "...What about yourself?"

Adrian answered. "The youngest of three...two brothers are married and Adam, the eldest, has two children"

"And what—" He was about to ask what Adrian's parents did when Ally appeared and interrupted.

"Sorry to keep you waiting."

Adrian was a little breathless at her loveliness. Her blonde hair was splayed over a dark dress lightly spattered with tiny flower prints which emphasised her slim form before flaring out to a hem above knee length.

"No...no...it's fine," he managed. His mind suggested that it was worth waiting for but he curtailed the unimaginative response before it got to his lips. "We should go."

"Uh huh...Bye Dad...don't wait up." She cheerily took Adrian's arm as her dad returned gruffly that there was little chance of him staying up late.

On the way to the restaurant Adrian managed to tell Ally how lovely she looked. She queried him about his injury and his recovery and when he was returning to work. Small talk about his work was qualified with the rider that he was new to the squad and still finding his way. Within himself he was wondering how the cases were progressing and whether any new breakthroughs had occurred.

During the meal, Adrian learned that Ally worked as an accountant, that she was partial to sports and that he shouldn't fret about Liam, her male friend, as their relationship was casual and ill-defined. At her mention of Liam you could see that it concerned Adrian even more. He was concerned that Ally might be able to form and dissolve friendships at will, given her looks and likeable personality. Maybe he would be discarded quickly if he didn't match the reliable and special Liam.

A broad spectrum of topics were covered as the night wore on in the aromatic Indian restaurant. Ally had been delighted by the cuisine and Adrian had been relieved. He had been reluctant to go to a place Candice and he had frequented so he had asked Ben to recommend a restaurant. There were two he insisted were worth trying—this Indian eatery and a steakhouse. When she opted for Indian, Adrian had confessed that it was an unknown to him, hoping to deflect blame should it prove to be a disaster.

If it hadn't been for the final few sentences spoken between them as he returned to Ally's home, Adrian would have rated the night as a success. Instead he was confused. Then he was irritated. 'Why did she have to say that?' He kept asking himself. As he drove to his place he recalled what she had said, "Liam will be interested to know about tonight." What did that mean? "When I mentioned I was going out he had lots of questions."

"Is he your brother?" Even as he asked it, he remembered she was an only child.

"No. I guess you could say he's special."

"It sounds a bit unusual to me," declared Adrian. "...Discussing a date with another guy...are you sure he's all right with this?"

"He was a bit concerned." She tapped him on the knee and gave a reassuring smile. "Don't worry about it...I'll talk to him." She had left then, giving him a nose crinkle smile as she parted. He had sat there wondering what had happened.

By the time he got home he had resolved that maybe Ally, as lovely as she was, was too quirky for him. He would bury himself in work and hope he would forget her. He knew for a fact that his idea of a meaningful relationship didn't include a third party, male confidante. A normal, courteous thing to do would be to call her the next day—especially if he had intentions of the relationship progressing. But Ally seemed to have a complicated arrangement and he was reluctant to commit to someone in his still fragile state.

***

The doctor gave him a clean bill of health and Adrian returned to work on the following Monday. The plaster was still in place but he tried to hide it by brushing his fringe over it. He was surprised that little progress had been made in the two cases he had been interested in. Two other murders, that half the crew were engaged with, were mostly about assembling evidence, gaining statements and ensuring all the details were in place for successful prosecutions. Lancaster's crew, who had been on the Clements' murder, were ploughing through Benita's relatives and social connections. Lists of people with motives were being compiled, and even Zane Clements was listed for inheritance and insurance reasons, though he had been many hundreds of kilometres away at the time.

Adrian's own case had been diverted by Morrie Martello's attack on him. Palmer had the thug dragged in for interrogation and charged him with assault. He eventually extracted from Martello that he'd heard Manny had been 'rubbed out' and wanted to get some stuff of his that Manny had. The story was feasible but the career criminal wouldn't elaborate on what the 'stuff' was. Later talks with the Gilbertos added nothing to the investigation, and the Stinettis were equally uncooperative.

"I'm sorry I haven't got much further," said Palmer. "I mean he was obviously a standover man and nobody's going to admit to hiring him. What do you think he was after when you saw him at Manny's place?"

"I have a feeling it was Manny's book," proffered Adrian. "That, and probably hopeful of finding his stash." His gaze momentarily was unseeing, as though the brain cells required for the next thought were diverted from all non-essential applications. "We need to look at that book more closely and see if anything in it makes sense."

They sat at the desk and pondered for several minutes, paging through the investigation notes that had been made by the first detectives and the ones Charlie had added. Adrian began again. "Could we get a copy of Manny's rap sheet? This might be something historical."

"Yeah...no worries...anything else?"

"The final autopsy report ready yet?"

"Should be...but they haven't sent it. I'll chase it up."

Having leafed through the relatively thin sheaf of papers a couple of times he looked up. Palmer was battling his way through the new, highly unreliable, computer records program. Adrian thought out loud, "You know...Martello said he'd heard that Manny had been killed. If they'd killed him themselves, they would have searched the place then...Maybe we need to talk to the Stinettis."

"You think they knocked off their own man?"

"If they did they wouldn't tell us. But maybe they know who did."

***

Gino Stinetti was in his expensive house in a well-to-do suburb. The family business was ostensibly about owning a few rental apartment buildings. Some cousins had been nabbed selling drugs but the large family had evaded being implicated, though Alberto Stinetti was long suspected of being the brains behind the syndicate.

He welcomed the two detectives into the opulent interior of the house.

"Ah...Detective Palmer...it's been a long time. And you have an apprentice with you."

"This is Detective Burton, Gino. Thought we'd drop by and find out what you know about Manny Lavis' death."

Adrian stood quietly by. He glanced around the plush furniture and then observed the suspicious squint of a man accustomed to being cagey.

"Why ask me?"

"We know he worked for you."

"And how do you know that?"

The question was loaded and Charlie smiled back at the man who ten years before could have been described as a roughneck and a lout. "Let's just say...you have friends and you have enemies...and they all agree that the Stinettis will miss their loyal worker."

Gino sneered. "Friends and enemies, hey...I'd say it's hard to tell these days. Look detective...Manny...he...he was a friend...like a member of the family...whoever did this...well...let's just say they wouldn't want to run into us."

"What are you suggesting?"

"Just saying, Detective...just saying."

"I hope you're not suggesting taking the law into your own hands, are you Gino?"

"Who, me? Never."

Charlie appeared to be searching for his next question. Adrian entered the conversation.

"So, Mr Stinetti, who of your customers is on your list of possible killers?"

"Whoa...the silent one speaks." He squinted warily at the young detective. "You don't expect me to put my loyal customers in for harassment by the cops, do you?"

Adrian grinned. "Okay, let me put it another way. How many do you think would be capable of killing Manny?"

"Mm..." The wily crook considered the consequences if he gave a number. What harm would it do?

"Two...possibly three." He looked as if he was weighing up the characters of likely culprits. "Nah...two."

"You're thinking about who could put four slugs into a victim with a steady hand," pronounced Adrian.

"Yea...nah...what? No...I have no idea."

The fluster of the, now mellowed, hood amused Palmer. He watched to see where this was heading.

"What about your friends, the Gilbertos?"

Gino was off balance and had lost his measured sophistication. "They aint no friends of mine...and they wouldn't dare..." He paused as if an idea occurred to him. "If...so help me...I find out they're mixed up in this there'll be trouble."

"Let me assure you Mr Stinetti, Manny's death was as much a surprise to them as it was to you."

Gino's eyes were agog. "Then...then, why are you here?"

"It helps to get the whole picture."

The two detectives were about to leave when Adrian spun around. "Er...one more thing. Did you ever see Manny reading a newspaper?"

Gino looked at him as if he was crazy. "What are ya talkin' about? He read a few mags...if ya know what I mean. Nuh...never seen him read no newspaper. He wasn't big on readin'."

"Thanks."

As Adrian and Charlie left, Alberto came in from the other room. He had heard the whole conversation. Gino shrugged. The two brothers looked at each other as if there was something in the question that provided information he shouldn't have answered.

On the way back to headquarters Palmer probed. "How do you know they had nothing to do with it?"

"I don't know, but think about it...Gino's family relied on Manny to collect their debts...He did their intimidation...their strongarm stuff. And he was prepared to consider who might be angry enough to make a hit on Lavis. It's just so unlikely. And...it was clear that the Gilbertos had sent Martello to find something in Manny's place. If he'd murdered Manny he would have got it when Manny was killed. That's the theory anyway."

"What if Manny ratted on Gino or tried to line his own pockets?"

Adrian clenched his jaws briefly. "It's possible. Put yourself in Manny's shoes though; The Gilbertos are enemies, why antagonise the only powerful friends you have? They were his bread and butter. And Gino didn't seem too pleased about his death. "You're right though...I'm guessing at this stage."

Adrian and Palmer constructed diagrams that afternoon to broaden the list of suspects. The unlikely perpetrators ranged from petty criminals, standover merchants and mob assassins to family links. Motivation and opportunity were the key elements that eluded Adrian's grasp. He thought audibly as they reviewed the names. "If we speculated on the motive, I can't help thinking that an unknown assailant decided that Manny knew too much. It appears he let the murderer in and was killed. There was no rifling of possessions so silencing is my guess."

"It could be a revenge," suggested Palmer.

"That's a possibility...but revenge means it was someone Manny considered an enemy. Would he let him in Charlie?"

"So...somehow we have to find out who Manny has worked for and what the incriminating information is that they wanted hidden. How do we do that?"

"See if we can tie down all the links in his book...and keep asking around. Something will turn up." The afternoon wore on. By evening, Adrian was frustrated and frazzled. Things didn't fall into place as they usually did. It didn't help that Charlie summed him up by saying he 'played the odds'. Adrian countered that he'd prefer to call it 'opting for most likely.' Charlie told him it was the same thing.

Chapter 5

Tuesday again

Pulling up in the carport outside his unit, he sighed. Candace was waiting for him. His ambivalence surprised him. Instead of feeling outraged and bitter, he was, in some small measure, pleased to see her. Candace had put on her best face. There was no doubt she was attractive. She apologised volubly. "Ade, I'm so sorry. You know how I feel about you...I was just mad...I mean we missed so many dates. I shouldn't have accepted Jarrod's invitation...I'm sorry...even though we said there were no ties...I mean...he's always asking me out, and...well...I didn't really have a good time."

It was then that Adrian erupted. "You're lying again," he accused coldly. "I saw you cuddling up and laughing...Lying. That's what you should be apologising for and not justifying every little detail."

Candace burst into tears. "Can't you forgive me? I love you...We...we could start again." Her sobs made it hard to hear her clearly. Adrian was moved. He hated seeing girls cry. She had never declared her love before. Was she that desperate? If it hadn't been for the feeling he had when he was with Ally, he may have accepted her apology. But the fluttering in his stomach and the glow he felt with Ally made his relationship with Candace seem inadequate. And even though it was unlikely that anything would come of his new friendship with Ally, given the absurdity of her murky reliance on the inexplicable Liam, the prospect that deeper, more intense feelings existed. Now that he had plumbed those depths, he thought, it voided the possibility of a future with Candace.

The problem was that he knew the situation with Ally was untenable. He wouldn't be able to share her affections with anyone. So here he was, about to close the door on his past flame and with no real likelihood of befriending the one girl his heart yearned for.

It had seemed an age since Candace's pleading question yet it was only fleeting thoughts ago. Adrian measured his response. "It's over Candy." He used a pet name he had for her. "If we didn't care enough to devote ourselves exclusively to each other, or to honour commitments, on my part, then maybe we should just be friends and leave it at that."

"You're ending it like that? One year and it's over? Don't you love me?"

"If you had of asked me before Jarrod, I might have said yes, but the truth is that I was just pleased to have a beautiful girl on my arm. It was probably more about me than you."

Her eyes widened, firstly at the flattering compliment and then at a speculative realisation. "You've found someone else!" It was a denunciation more than a deduction.

"I wish it was so simple," he said with a grimace.

"What do you mean?"

"There is a girl that I think I could love but...but she already has an attachment."

Instead of commiserating for him in his emotional entanglement, Candace lunged at him and gave him a shove. "Oh Mr Indignant, when his girl wants a fun night out, and all the time you're scouting for someone else."

"All the time?" Adrian tried to sound offended.

"Well you're hardly depressed at our breakup."

Adrian withheld a retort. He breathed slowly and then remarked quietly. "I think one day you'll thank me."

Candace bit her lip. "Is there no chance of making up?"

Adrian gave a squinty, pressed-lips smile. He knew he was ending something significant. "What do they say?" he uttered, almost distantly, "We'll stay friends."

"And they almost never do," she remarked sullenly. She moved close with a resigned expression and kissed him on the cheek. "Take care Ade. I hope you resolve this tortured love life you're embarking on." She turned and went to her car. A brief glance back and wave before she left had Adrian wondering whether he'd made a big mistake. If only she could have been as genuine and down to earth when they went out together. All he recalled was the glamorous façade and the shallow trappings of people pleasing. If he were honest, that would have been an apt description of himself as well.

He stood momentarily staring, even after the car had disappeared. Then inside the entryway of his unit he pushed his forehead against the wall and bumped it lightly. "I hope you know what you're doing Burton," he intoned gruffly.

He had made a quick meal and was cleaning up when the phone rang.

"Yes, Adrian Burton here," he announced curtly. It reflected his abrasive mood.

"Hello Adrian...er this is Ally." She sounded uncertain, even a touch nervous. "I was hoping you'd give me a call. Are you okay?"

His initial reaction was excitement, even pleasure, at the thought that the vivacious blonde would call. Then he remembered her weird parting words.

"Yeah...I'm fine...bit of a difficult day at work that's all."

"Oh...I was hoping you might drop around. I mean, I had such a great time on Friday, it would be good to see you again."

Adrian hesitated. She was beautiful. He had been captivated by her. Maybe her friend, Liam, had been consigned to the outer. "How about I come around in an hour. I need to freshen up a bit."

"That would be lovely."

He wasn't sure what it was about Ally, whether it was her unpretentious demeanour or merely that she had a certain distinctive individualism that appealed to his own non-conformity. Whatever it was, he hoped desperately that she had sorted out her multiple affections. Surely by contacting him, he was gaining ground.

Alison met him at the front door. "I think we should go and see Liam," she said immediately after greeting him.

"You're kidding!" he retorted, exasperated.

"No...I owe you an explanation...and an apology, and...well, you'll understand when you meet him. He lives next door," she added as a by-the-way. Adrian trailed behind Ally as they circled into the neighbour's property. He felt ridiculous. He was tempted to escape to his car and leave. The doorbell rang and a young voice called out, "Coming."

The door swung open and a boy of fifteen or sixteen, by Adrian's estimation, appeared at the door. He was in a wheelchair and sat with a slightly curved stoop.

"Liam, how are you? Can we come in?" bubbled Ally.

"Please do...It's good to see you Ally...and this is Adrian?" He proffered a shaky hand. Adrian took it and shook.

"Liam has taught me a lot about life. We have a lot of 'deep-and-meaningfuls', don't we Liam?" she introduced enthusiastically. While he smiled outwardly, Adrian was castigating himself for jumping to conclusions. 'What sort of detective was he?' that he immediately categorised Liam as 'competition'.

"Well I'm pleased to meet you Liam. What sorts of things do you talk about?"

The boy looked up at Ally and she gave a nod of consent. "Well...we talk about lots of things...like...the meaning of life...what's really valuable...mortality...the nature of man, and stuff like that. But lately we've been talking about the sort of man Ally should marry."

Adrian blanched. His eyebrows raised as he searched desperately for some light hearted way to detour the conversation.

Liam, who sounded like he was wise for his age, smiled. "Don't worry. Another thing we talked about was that decisions like that shouldn't be rushed."

"Yes...er...it's serious stuff," was all that Adrian could manage in response.

"You're such a tease, Liam. He really has me thinking though, Adrian...about life and what Christianity really means."

The comment made Adrian cringe. What was he getting himself into? He forced a calm voice. "So... you're Christians?"

"Liam is...me? I've, only last week accepted its claims. I'm still finding out about it. But what he's been telling me is very interesting."

"I'm sure it is." His thoughts ground to a halt momentarily before he picked up a thread. "What interested you in the subject Liam?" It sounded like an innocuous question. Liam's answer hit him like a punch in the solar-plexus.

"I'm dying. I've got Muscular Dystrophy. So I wanted to be sure I was on the right track."

Adrian felt himself in a deluge of bewildering awkwardness. "Oh...I hope it brings you the peace you need." He was satisfied with his diplomatic exit from the topic when the smiling teen replied with more zest than he expected.

"Ah...peace...yes, there certainly is that. But what's more important is the truth. You don't know how comforting it is to have the truth about yourself and everyone else revealed so that you understand your purpose and direction. I mean...you would hate to be lied to about something this important wouldn't you."

The words cut deep into Adrian's psyche. Being lied to. He did hate it. "Yess," he slurred.

"Well, you're being lied to if you believe that all there is, is this world, this time, your job, your family and your happiness. There's so much more. It's an eternal difference."

Adrian marvelled at Liam's eloquence. Maybe he was older than he looked. "You sound convinced and...and you speak very persuasively. Is this something you've been taught?"

"Look at me Adrian. My body is giving up on me. All I can do now is read or watch informational videos. So I learn about this glorious hope that God, who has intervened in history, will clothe us with immortality and wholeness one day."

Adrian shook his head slowly. "Forgive me for saying this but, in your situation, you have to believe there is something else. I'm quite happy with the way I am."

"Well, then I pity you. I'd much rather be me, even with MD. At least I have a purpose, a reason for living and no fear in dying. But you...you're satisfied with trudging through life for an indeterminate period of time, with nothing but the accumulation of stuff, and transitory relationships, all superficial distractions, and it ending, eventually, in oblivion."

The detective's jaw dropped slightly. What a stark indictment of his life. He hated to admit it but Liam was right. He had tried to fill his life with the attainment of a physically impressive body and gain a reputation from his job. His last year had been wasted trusting in a relationship that had disintegrated. He had been especially consumed pursuing the intrigues of criminal investigations; but no matter what success he had, he was never satisfied. In truth, he was hoping Ally would somehow fill the gap. As though sensing his introspection Liam gently prodded. "Have you ever really examined the claims of Jesus Christ? As a detective I would have thought you'd search through the evidence and see where it leads."

"What evidence?"

"Just by asking that question it is clear you haven't given it much thought. I challenge you to come up with an alternative, reasonable explanation of how starting with twelve followers, Jesus could establish throughout the world his revolutionary ideas of loving service to your fellow man."

"I could say the same about Mohammed or Buddha. People are so desperate for explanations they'll grasp onto anything when there is no explanation."

It was Liam's turn to shake his head. "You're right that people are desperate for an answer. Maybe they were designed that way. As for other religions, there is a lot I could say. I would prefer you to find out for yourself. You're the investigator. Just remember when you work on a crime you wouldn't accept 'no explanation' as an answer. Ask yourself why you are prepared to accept no explanation about your very existence."

"Because people are involved in crimes, there's always a motive or a reason."

"Have you ever considered why people have reason? Why aren't they random like the so-called explanation of everything? And another thing, with crimes there are explanations but some of them are wrong. I think other religions are wrong explanations of what God intended."

"Why can't Christianity be just as wrong?"

"I'll let you discover that. But... I'll give a well-known opinion about the difference. Other religions are man's attempts to reach God, Christianity is God reaching out to man. You tell me, if God is God, who is likely to succeed?"

Adrian's head was muddled by the onslaught of ideas. He didn't need a spiritual dimension, did he? Ally, who had been watching the interchange in the background, moved alongside Adrian and clutched his arm protectively. "I think poor Adrian will never come back if you brow beat him, Liam."

"I'm sorry," the teen said sheepishly. "It's something I'm passionate about. It's my life. I can't understand why other people can't see the truth of human evil and God's perfect grace in the world about them and in the Bible."

"Liam is much gentler in teaching me about what the Bible says. Maybe I can share some of the things he has told me." She looked up into Adrian's face.

"You're right, and again I'm sorry, Ally. It's just that you want to learn. I think Adrian doesn't even think it's an issue and, in this case, ignorance is death—at least death to the truth."

"Well, he has got me thinking," admitted Adrian. "Maybe next time I'll come back and explain why he's got it all wrong. Then again, a placebo is better than nothing and I may not have the heart to break down his beliefs."

Liam chuckled. "That old line hey? Placebo...opiate of the people, crutch...let me remind you that over history people have chosen faith as the hard road, the way of suffering and persecution, of martyrdom, despite the choice often given to recant. Christianity is not easy, it is hard. But it's worth it because it's the truth."

Adrian nodded and again was astounded at the youth's rational acuity. "I'll say this Liam, you're a greater threat to my direction in life than I could have imagined. Now I'm bound to settle this potential logical conflict that's arisen between what you think is and what I believe is."

"That's all I need," moaned Ally. "Another deep thinker in my life." She gripped his arm higher up. "Come on...you're taking me to the mall. I think I need some materialistic therapy."

"I have this sudden urge to start my theological studies," quipped Adrian.

"Come on detective," urged Ally yanking at his arm.

"Nice meeting you Liam. Thanks for the interesting chat." Those were the last words he said before Liam disappeared from view and Ally called back, "Thank you Liam."

Wandering around the mall in an aimless sort of fashion was so foreign to Adrian. He had always been about completing tasks, keeping busy and exercising. Now they were strolling about and talking. Ally talked about growing up as a child, her hopes and ambitions and how meeting Liam, with his almost jubilant contentment, had blown her mind.

When Adrian quizzed her about her home life, Ally was reticent to open up about being an only child and being doted on by her parents. He was likewise guarded about his family. His police career had not been a popular choice with his parents. His father, a maths professor had high expectations for a son who did well at school. He was following two older brothers, a doctor and lawyer, and the hopes had been for him to pursue the sciences. When Adrian had opted for a job in criminal investigation there was the suggestion that he could always resume his other tertiary studies when his whim had run its course. So, in answer to her questions, Adrian merely said that his brothers had professional careers and his parents had higher hopes for him.

On the way home, Ally had him detour and they found themselves at a Christian book store.

"Ah ha...ulterior motives," claimed Adrian.

"Well, I thought it might help in your investigation," she sniggered and gave a coy grin.

"I would have thought that a less biased analysis would more likely find the truth. Don't you think?"

"True...and I don't intend to load you up with books on, what Liam calls, apologetics. But there is one book. Liam told me about it. It's about a police detective who examines the evidence like a cold case. It might save you some time." She gave a quirky smile and added, "...and you can tell me where he went wrong."

They talked and drank coffees in a café connected with the bookstore. Occasionally, Adrian paged through and made a comment about the detective's interpretation of coherent evidence. The approach intrigued him and he determined to balance the approach by comparing alternative interpretations and religions as well. After all, it may be symptomatic of belief systems that their own texts corroborated their claims with a degree of consistency that mimics real events.

That night he felt surprisingly light hearted. His fears of a promiscuous Ally had dissolved with the revelation that the 'other man' was a brave, terminally ill youth with extraordinary insight into Adrian's own dissatisfied life. He again berated himself for jumping to conclusions. It was indicative of his jaded emotions after his split with Candace—or at least that's what he told himself.

He spent some of the night reading about a detective who attended a church at his wife's instigation and, like the detective in the account, found himself evaluating the claims made about Christ. The experienced investigator emphasised his criteria of reasonableness when assessing possible scenarios. Adrian was intrigued. The focus was on the resurrection of Christ. The author's contention—which he claimed was much the same as Paul the Apostle's—was that the Christian faith was totally reliant on the fact of the resurrection. If the resurrection was true, he had to believe.

After several chapters, Adrian read passages from a Bible Ally had managed to transfer into his possession. Grinding through a couple of chapters of Genesis, which he abandoned after recalling that Ally had told him Liam's advice to her, he turned to the New Testament. Liam's recommendation was that Genesis made more sense viewed in retrospect—once recognition of Christ as 'creator and redeemer' had occurred. If you didn't get there then he doubted, apart from revelation, that the creation story would ever be palatable.

Although a vague awareness of the stories of Jesus existed in his mind, the text conveyed a story that was more powerful than he had anticipated. He read for far too long for the beginning of a working week. He reminded himself that he had to work the next day. Adrian rubbed his eyes. It was early in the morning when he deposited the Bible on his bedside table. Lying flat on his bed, thoughts tumbled through his mind. Over his life he had avoided thinking about religion. His parents adhered to the saying that you didn't talk about politics or religion with others, and while politics was seldom spoken about, spiritual things were rejected out of hand. And if his mother had seemed indifferent to such topics, her attitude had been; 'they upset your father so we don't talk about it'. She was correct. His father did hold that there was no room for 'such bunkum in this modern world'.

Yet from what he'd, so far, read in the gospels, a radical, anti-establishment morality began to take shape. Jesus had sought to reach out to the poor and exposed and rejected the claims of the self-righteous. The words early in Matthew had especially confronted him. He had always considered himself of high moral standing. He was a good guy. And yet Jesus equated hate with murder and lust with adultery; even failing to show compassion was a sin. Suddenly he felt inadequate. How could Christians cope with such high standards?

It was at the point, when he seemed most removed from the convoluted pathways of his murder investigation that the likely, most feasible, solution struck him anew. The 'how' and 'when' of Manny's death were known but the 'why' was the puzzle he had to major on. Someone like Manny had enemies but it had appeared as if a known acquaintance, someone he didn't fear, maybe even a client, had killed him. What sort of motive would such a person have? The one that had already arisen and gelled in his mind was the need to keep Manny quiet. In a world of crime and betrayal and material gain. Silencing someone who committed a crime for you was one way of severing ties with the perpetrator. Removing a co-conspirator added layers to the shroud of obscurity behind which to conceal your identity.

***

In the office the following day, Adrian sat down with Charlie and re-examined the notepad. There were some puzzling entries. The last few pages would be most recent. The two detectives ventured interpretations. "Lean on Astor renters," was one line.

"That's got to be that old hotel in East," decided Charlie. "He's got to be getting rent or pushing protection."

"What about this one?" asked Adrian. "Mento –no number...says he'll call-$20k!"

"No idea...who's Mento?"

"Whoever he is, he's cautious. The sort of person we'd be looking for."

"What do you mean?"

"Okay, let's speculate. Someone hires Manny to do a hit. Twenty thousand is generous but ensures that Manny is on board. He doesn't give any contact details. Manny does the job...Mento comes around to complete payment but instead takes out Manny Lavis. He saves himself a heap of money and he erases the one person who can implicate him."

"It's nice and neat. So we have to find out who Mento is." Charlie leaned back against his chair. "How do we do that?"

Adrian scrunched his face. "A bit of legwork, a bit of research and we'll see what turns up."

"What about this entry, 'set up DNGs drug bust?' What's that mean?"

The young detective smiled. "You can work that one out Charlie. Who are the Stinnetti competition?"

The light illuminated at the prompt. "Ah, Donny and Nico Gilberto. So...he's got contacts in the drug squad?"

"He's probably someone's informant. But it's clear the Stinnettis are in the trade as well, so it's a bit dubious for the squad to be acting on behalf of one family against another. We'll need to tread carefully if we look at that."

"Sounds like a bad egg. Maybe someone from the squad was getting kickbacks and decided to end the collusion by eliminating the connection."

Adrian rubbed his forehead. "That's another possibility. As I said...we need to dig carefully. Don't ruffle anyone's feathers, and we don't want to warn them off."

Charlie was still looking at the booklet. "What's this one on the last page? 'Rub out Smith.' Couldn't have chosen a less common name could he?"

"That one has me wondering too. If he's a crim you'd think he'd have a nickname. How many offenders have you come across where their common surname is maintained? My guess is it's some official...maybe a councillor, a businessman or even a copper."

"Do we follow up on that one too?"

"Yeah...we had better. If he had a contract...probably not completed...then there's a customer who still wants a job done. We might be able to preserve a life for a change."

"So...what's the first course of action?" The older detective straightened up and stretched.

Adrian responded. "Why don't we do the 'Smith thing' first? Then we'll chase up the renters. If he struck an irate or violent occupant...well his heavy stuff might have backfired."

***

The remainder of the morning was spent compiling lists of 'Smiths'. There were minor council officials, a regional engineer, a banker and three prominent businessmen, but apart from some questionable real estate quotations nothing stood out. R J Smith was a lawyer who had defended some petty criminals and did some legal aid work. Charlie said he would chat with her and see if there was any connection with Lavis or the Stinnettis. Going through the force data base was the next step. In the whole of the metro force there were twenty-two Smiths.

Adrian sighed. "You know it could be anyone of thousands. We're assuming it's a prominent one. Oh well...I'll start on these police officers." He circled a list of twelve. "I doubt if the three in traffic are likely targets...or the five on street beats," he murmured half to himself. "Ah...what the heck...I'll have to work my way through them all."

"I'll leave you to it," said Charlie as he stood up. "I've got a lawyer to check out."

Five phone calls later and Adrian was running his fingers through his hair. All the officers he had spoken to were involved in criminal investigations of some sort. Two had heard of Manny, specifically his recent demise but both also knew something of his dealings with crime families. Neither had direct dealings with him but both had some contact with the Stinnettis. One had even arrested Gino's brother, Vinnie, on a concealed weapon's charge. The links were too tenuous and some time ago so Adrian kept looking but didn't discount them.

His next call was to Conrad Smith. He was a detective sergeant with internal affairs.

"Detective Smith speaking," was the abrupt reply to his call."

"Ah, detective...this is Burton from homicide. I'm chasing up some background on a murder and I'm wondering if you can help."

"I'm wondering too," he countered, "but I'll see what I can do."

"Right." Adrian was a bit taken aback at his forthright manner. "So...have you heard of Manny Lavis or know anything about him?"

"Can't say that I have. What's his problem?"

"Well he is the victim."

"Oh..."

"What about the Stinnetti family or the Gilberto family?"

"Ah...now...you have my attention. I have gained some interesting...er...material on those people."

"So...you're IA...can I ask what your investigation is about?" Adrian winced the moment he asked.

"Burton is it?"

"Yes."

"Well Burton, you know as well as I do that I'm not free to discuss IA investigations. So what's this about? Why are you asking me about a murder case?"

Adrian took a deep breath. "Detective Sergeant...I know this is unusual but...you may be the target of an assassination attempt."

"Wha...t!" The retort was more disbelief and scepticism than query.

"Can we get together and I'll tell you what I've got?"

"All right Burton...but it better not be a waste of my time."

The young detective flinched at the inferred slight to his competence.

***

They met in a small café not far from city headquarters. Adrian shook the hand of the nuggetty IA investigator. His close-cropped hair and bustling movements conveyed a no-nonsense demeanour.

"I should thank you Burton. I don't often get out to have a bite to eat...Now what's this all about?"

They hadn't even found a table and Smith was quizzing him. Adrian gestured to a table in the corner and, after they sat, they were immediately addressed by a petite girl with a dour expression.

"Can I help you...Would you like to order?"

Adrian felt like saying, 'you could smile a bit', but returned with; "Could you give us a minute?" And then he opened the menu.

Conrad Smith did likewise as the girl sauntered to another table to spread her gloom. Once she had moved away, Adrian began. "So...I'm investigating the death of Manny Lavis. He has been an enforcer for the Stinnettis and does some contract work on the side. It's likely he's responsible for a number of underworld hits. In a small notebook he had hidden, he has written the phrase 'Rub out Smith.' It was the last line so it appears to be a future hit."

"And you think it's me? Do you know how many Smiths there are?" He sounded amused.

"Okay...It's a long shot. But I thought it might be responsible of me to at least try and prevent a murder if I could. I wouldn't feel too good if Detective Smith was killed while I'm sitting on this bit of information."

Smith look at him. "Hmm." That was all he was able to say before they were again accosted for an order. Having gained their custom, the girl seemed to brighten slightly and left.

"But, you said yourself that the hitman is dead. Surely that ends the threat."

"Think about it," Adrian said, unaware that he was talking down to the senior. "I presume whoever took out the contract is still out there. He'll just find another killer. So the threat is still real. If we can find out who Manny was working for...well, we might also find out why he died...or at least stop another crime."

There was a pause. The detective sergeant leaned forward. "So...what do you want from me?"

"You said that you're working...or have worked with the Stinnettis and Gilbertos. How do they interest IA?"

"Without giving away my investigation...all I can say is that there is some collaboration involving force members and the Stinnettis. Maybe if they got wind of it—my investigation...well...it's possible that I could be a target...Who did Lavis work for?"

"The Stinnettis." Even as he said it pieces were falling into place for Adrian. "Maybe you should bring someone else on board this investigation...you know...share the load and share the risk."

He shook his head. "We all have our cases, and...I'm close to winding this thing up."

"Detective Smith, I don't think the kudos is worth it. What precautions will you take?" Adrian had nailed his motivation and the senior man gave a wry smile.

"Don't you worry about me, I've been doin' this since you were an acne faced teen."

Adrian gained little more from the Internal Affairs' investigator and they parted with the junior ranking man giving a final warning that he was treading a dangerous path keeping his corruption case to himself. It wasn't uncommon for detectives to keep information to themselves until they were ready for breaking open a case or announcing some startling revelation. He had been guilty of 'who-done-it' melodramatics on occasions himself. Smith's bravado hadn't alleviated his concerns at all. It made him all the more conscious of the dangers of being indifferent or not heeding the risks inherent in uncovering criminal behaviour.

***

From the café he went to the Gilberto's pool hall. At the bar he went up to Hughie who retreated marginally to avoid any appearance of cooperating with the law.

"Hey Hughie tell Joey that I might be able to do some damage to the Stinnettis if he'll have a word with me."

"Joey's not in." The announcement was clearly standard policy.

"I don't think Joey would be happy with you if he missed an opportunity to get back at Gino...better tell him."

"I said he's not in."

"What would he say if there's another unexpected raid?"

Hughie looked bewildered. He left the bar and withdrew to a back room. Within a few seconds he came out.

"Joey will see you...in the back." His thumb indicated over his shoulder, behind him.

Adrian walked behind the bar, through a kitchen-utility room backing the bar and into an office area with subdued lighting.

"You wanted to see me?" The accent was thick. The man sitting behind the desk was bulky.

"I have a few questions for you Joey. The questions revolve around implicating the Stinnettis in a conspiracy which, I'm sure, you won't mind."

"Hey Nico...the man wants me to answer questions."

A younger, less heavyset Gilberto stood up from beside a safe that had just been closed. "Ha...we don' do interviews do we Joey?"

"Well, that depends, Nico, on what the questions are?" His hands fluttered in front of him in an exaggerated gesture. "Take a seat Detective Burton. We don't get to speak to homicide very often. What's ya question?"

"This may sound strange...but...who led the last drug raid on this place?"

"Ha...did ya hear that Nico? The copper wants to know who raided us." He leaned forward and snarled, "Why don't you ask your mates? Don't you talk to each other anymore?"

Adrian squeezed his eyes and mouth in one motion. "Ah...it's a delicate matter. Let's just say that it may be to your advantage to help me out."

"Did ya hear that Nico? They're not talking to each other...maybe they got some troubles."

"Mebe there are some crooked coppers there," cackled his brother.

Adrian waited. His eyes were fixed on the older brother. He waited and it was as if the situation came into focus—You can't ask about a crooked cop in the station because word would get back to him. Joey's head oscillated as he conceded the point.

"Yeah...We owe him a bit of recognition for the wonderful job he does for the Stinnettis. It was Sweeny...Jack Sweeny."

"Right...that will come in handy."

"If he gets dumped will they drop the charges? I've got a coupla hundred thou tied up in bail."

"I'm afraid not. The DA is directing the charges and he's using the evidence got by the squad. So if Sweeny is there or not, I don't think it'll make much difference."

"Maybe you could do something?" Joey rubbed his fingers together intimating the incentive for a bit of assistance.

"I don't work that way Joey." Adrian rose to his feet. "Stay clear of the drugs and you'll keep out of trouble."

Next, Adrian went to a seedy café and burger eatery. Several tables had clients. The critical questions were probably, whose clients and, what their business was. Ernie Mercurio was talking with a heavily tattooed man. The conversation abruptly ended and the hulk of a man left in haste as Adrian approached the table.

"What can I do for you detective?"

Adrian wasn't about to ask his questions loudly in a public place. The consequences of being a police informer didn't bear thinking about and Ernie would make a point of being uncooperative in view of so many witnesses. So his voice was muted.

"We're still after Manny's murderer, got any ideas?"

"Na...can't help ya." He then added with discernible sincerity, "And...ya know if I knew who did it I'd probably dob him in. Manny was a good Joe."

In a quieter voice Adrian went on. "I don't suppose you could tell me who's likely to take up the slack in Manny's elimination business?"

"Couldn't tell ya."

"What if he rubbed out Manny?"

"He didn't," he answered, before registering the conflict in his answers. He snorted humorously at his own blundering. "Anyway...you can take it from me...you're chasin' your tail." He said it loudly enough for any would-be snitches.

Adrian pushed a card with his work number toward Ernie as he spoke. "Would he work for the Gilbertos?"

"Na...they do their own in house...maybe the Stinnettis," he breathed.

"Let me know if you hear anything about Manny." Adrian stood.

"I got nuthin'," he growled. "You're wastin' your time."

***

Adrian was almost at his desk when his phone rang. He picked it up. "Silvio Bettini...got that...Silvio Bettini."

"Got it...tha—" The phone cut off.

Detective Palmer looked up. "Who was that? A bit cryptic."

"Heard of Silvio Bettini?"

"Was that him?" His new partner looked incredulous.

"No...it was someone giving me his name. Who is he?"

"A slime from the western gangs. Career crim who's getting cagey. Why?"

"He's stepping into Manny's shoes. Is he the type to do a contract?"

"For money...just about anything."

Adrian sat and leaned back in his chair.

"What are you thinking?" asked Charlie.

"I'm thinking Smith is not safe."

"Well it's not the lawyer. I mean I couldn't guarantee it but none of her cases dealt with any heavies...that I could tell, anyway." He scratched under his arm before going on. "And I chased up two other guys...no connection. You got any idea which Smith?"

I'm thinking it's Conrad Smith. He's a detective sergeant with internal affairs."

"Why him?"

Adrian's voice dropped. "I'd say he's doing the groundwork to run in Jack Sweeny. He's in the drug squad."

Charlie looked aghast. "Smith told you that?" he rasped. "That's bucking the system. He's pushin' the boundaries."

The other shook his head, amused at the frequency of his prosaic language.

"No...I got that from somewhere else. Smith doesn't think there's a threat, even though a Smith was on Manny's list."

Chapter 6

It was a bizarre situation. Two homicide detectives trailing a thug on the off chance that he might have been engaged as a hit man by a detective from the drug squad. It was the second day on the prowl and Adrian had already put off Detective Inspector Michaels about their lack of progress, saying that they had a few leads. He rationalised that they were on Bettini's case as it was likely he was taking on Manny's contracts.

Both detectives were sitting at an outdoor café along the north shore of the river east of the centre of the city. In their sights was Bettini at the next of several similar cafés. This was not his usual haunt and the assumption was that he was meeting someone. A camera, aimed at the table, sat on a backpack and beneath a coat draped over it. It was positioned conveniently a little below head height. The lens was far enough under the coat to prevent any shimmer from the glass. The older man checked the magnified image through the small viewfinder.

"How long are we going to follow this guy...I mean he's got nothing to do with Manny's death," complained Charlie.

"I'd say it's unlikely he was involved...but you never know."

"And how likely is it that we have found the one guy who is going to pick up where Manny left off?"

"You work on what you know. Granted there may be a few people who'll take on a contract but we were told Bettini is slotting into Manny's role."

"Maybe we should get special ops to..." He didn't finish.

"Look!" From the back of the café there appeared a dark figure. He'd obviously been scouring the area for any possible surveillance. The two homicide police had blended in in their civvies, sipping lattes. Perhaps the backpack made them look like tourists.

"It's Sweeny," murmured Charlie. "You were right."

"He must be getting worried about IA closing in on him."

"Do we grab him?" Charlie knew even as he said it that Adrian didn't go in for the heavy interrogation approach.

"You know we have to nab him at it."

The two conspiring figures at the distant table leaned toward each other. An envelope changed hands. The camera clicked repeatedly.

"Sweeny will struggle to explain these pictures," offered Charlie.

"When we catch Bettini in the act it'll be even harder," returned the younger detective. "Are your friends from the local branch still on Bettini's car?"

Charlie picked up his radio and, obscured by the backpack, called the unit in question. "Gaz...are you still on? Good...It's on."

The muttered replies were indistinct but Charlie nodded. "And you have a couple of units along the way so we know where he's up to?" After further nodding Charlie concluded, "Great, great...I owe you." He quickly made another call to confirm the team was set.

The two conspirators parted with furtive glances about them. The detectives also left and walked casually to their unmarked vehicle. As if reiterating the plan was necessary, Adrian spoke as they got into the car. "So...we go straight to Smith's home and you keep tabs on Bettini's tail."

"Yup...I've also got Monroe giving me a buzz when Smith leaves the office."

"Excellent...and we've got a van on site already?"

He checked his watch. "Neilson and Brand will be in a repair van...said they wanted a bit of action." As he pulled from the kerb he added. "There will be some disappointed boys if this is a non-event."

"I told you this is a precaution. From what I've heard, charges will be laid against Sweeny tomorrow...so this will be his last chance before the evidence gets into the system."

They were quiet for some time and Adrian was chewing over what they had been talking about. He knew there was a certain satisfaction in being in on a sting but he argued anyway. "Besides...we're not supposed to want people to be breaking the law. If nothing happens, believe it or not, that's good."

Charlie laughed. "Listen to you. You tell me you're not happy with a bit of action."

Adrian sniggered, "You're right...it's perverse but I love the chase, the battle of wits and springing a trap. Let's hope no one gets hurt." In contradiction of his statement he examined his sidearm. It paid to ensure readiness.

***

Charlie parked the car alongside the next property up from the Smiths but on the opposite side of the road. The repair van was behind them and almost level with Smith's driveway. Both detectives slid low into their seats and adjusted mirrors to view the roadway.

"Do you think he'll come straight here?" quizzed the older detective.

"What would you do?" bounced back Adrian.

"Drive around a bit...keep a check for any shadows...then come here in enough time to recce the ambush."

"It's likely he'll do the same." He glanced around the street scene before ducking down again. "Where do you think he'll shoot from?"

"Detective Burton, I can't decide whether you're picking my brain or testing me." Charlie gave a dismissive shake of the head. He then poked his head up and considered his options. "Probably directly next to the driveway. He'd lay on the seat and take aim through his window...What do you think?"

Adrian's bottom lip overlapped his upper lip. He measured his response. "If it was me, I'd park down the road a bit, walk up past his home just to survey the place and then wait up for his arrival. When he gets here, I'd wander past...get a close shot with a handgun and then make a run for it."

Charlie fixed a stare on him. "You are scary. Why would you risk getting so close?"

"What's the percentage of a thirty metre shot compared to a walk up? Don't forget he's a professional...he's getting paid for this. It has to be clean and decisive. In his mind it's unexpected. He'll be in and gone before anyone registers what's happened...especially if he has a silencer."

They waited. A call came through that Conrad Smith had left the office. They barely had time to figure out his commute time when a car appeared down the street. Its occupant sat still for a couple of minutes. Then, even though it was reasonably warm, he exited the car wearing a hoodie. He had both hands tucked into large front pockets—plenty of room for a firearm. Bettini strolled up the sidewalk. From his position he couldn't see into their parked car. The soft commentary from the van informed the two homicide detectives of their quarry's position. They saw his reflection in the mirror as he paused in front of the property, scanned the area and then sauntered on past. The message received in their earbuds was that he had taken up a seat in the bus shelter two houses up. For him, it would seem an ideal position.

"How do you do it?" growled Charlie faintly.

"Lucky guess."

"Garbage."

Adrian squirmed about so that his muscles were relieved of the awkward position he'd put them in. Charlie spoke to the crew in the van and began reciting the probable course of events as foreseen by his partner.

"Tell them not to shoot unless I put my hands up," instructed Adrian. "And aim for the legs...we'll keep out of their line of fire."

Charlie repeated the words verbatim and then restated them to himself as a reminder of that critical advice, "Keep out of the line of fire...good idea." He gave a toothy grin to Adrian.

Waiting was punctuated by short updates from the van. They told of the nervous antics the would-be killer displayed. A growling engine drew near. The voice in their ears announced, "Bettini had to wave on the bus. The driver thought he was waiting for a ride."

When the bus had cleared the street another report, this time from Monroe, who decided to tail Smith. Charlie relayed the message. "The good sergeant has stopped off for some groceries. He should be here in a few minutes."

Knowing that things were coming to a head increased the tension and made the delay seem even longer.

"He's here," hissed Charlie, unnecessarily, as the news was passed on.

Already Adrian was poised to launch himself out of the car. The report was now a constant string of brief descriptions.

"Smith is pulling into his driveway...Bettini has started down the sidewalk...he's twenty...fifteen...ten... Smith is getting out of his car..."

"Now!" shouted Adrian. Launching himself out of the vehicle, gun drawn, he yelled at Bettini, "Stop and put your hands high Silvio!" He strode towards him, pointing his pistol at the shocked man. "Don't do anything silly there are several guns aimed at you."

Bettini's hands flinched inside his pockets. Conrad Smith was now crouching behind his car, fearful not only for himself but for his family who were only now aware of the shouting in the front yard.

"Let go of the gun...lift your hands quickly before it's too late."

As Bettini's hands slowly emerged and were raised, Charlie started shouting, "Get down on the ground...lie down..."

Other voices joined in all bawling out similar instructions. "Get down...hands outstretched...right down now!"

It was as though the man was pummelled down by the ferocity of the shouting.

He was rolled over and was disarmed of a lethal looking, silenced Mauser. Charlie was reading his rights as Smith quickly gave a bag of groceries to his wife and herded her and two little ones back inside. A minute later he came out and went straight to Adrian.

"I guess I owe you my thanks...how did you know?"

Adrian took him aside and spoke in a low voice. "We're talking Sweeny's whole career...his whole life is on the line. So he hired Lavis to get rid of you but someone eliminated his man. He's not going to let that stop him...He's got contacts and soon organises another hit. We saw him meeting with Bettini this afternoon. We'll give you the pictures if you like?"

Smith's face broke into a beaming smile. "What's this got to do with homicide?"

"Think of it as prevention." Adrian screwed his face to one side, "And, maybe...Bettini knows something about Manny's murder...who knows? Anyway, we'll charge him on conspiracy to murder and get him to implicate Sweeny."

"As I said," repeated Smith patting Adrian on the back. "I owe you Burton. Let me know if there's ever anything I can do for you."

"Will do," he answered. "We'll catch up tomorrow and I'll let you know how the interviews went...and, by the way, we'll pick up Sweeny for you. We've got him on conspiracy. The photos and the envelope with his prints should be enough to indict him." He turned and asked Charlie then, "Did you find the envelope?"

"Neilson found it in his car...it's a nice wad of money." As confirmation of due process he added. "He's treating it forensically. Should get a good set of prints."

Adrian now had a contented smile. "Looks like everything is in hand Detective Sergeant...You should go and join your family and have a relaxing night."

"I will...and...thanks again." He patted Adrian's shoulder firmly before departing up a step and through the front door. Two children were peering from behind curtains near an adjacent window. A little wave from Adrian had them responding enthusiastically.

***

Charlie was keen to see how his new partner handled the interrogation. Rumours had spread that he was a veritable Svengali in manipulating suspects to reveal more than they intended. Sweeny was in one interview room and Bettini in the other. Under instructions both had been informed that the other had been arrested but nothing else had been revealed.

Adrian and Charlie had a coffee together in the café opposite police headquarters.

"Just letting them cool their heels hey?" chuckled Charlie.

"You could say that...both of them will think the other is being interviewed first. We'll create the impression that the other is ratting on them."

"Sounds delicious."

They both speculated on what Sweeny was thinking. How could he wheedle his way out of this? Would he claim he was set up...maybe threatened and he cooperated with mobsters under duress?

When he eventually went into Bettini, Adrian spoke slowly, deliberately.

"So...it seems as if you're up for attempted murder. Sweeny clearly wants you to take the rap. I take it he didn't succeed in talking you out of making the hit?"

"What!" His scowling face showed his outrage but he refrained from saying anything. Bettini's dark eyes darted around the room.

"So the suggestion is Silvio, you took out Manny Lavis to get his clients and Manny's next target was Detective Sergeant Smith. We have the envelope with the money. I take it that's a down payment and you were going to get the balance when you'd finished."

Bettini was visibly seething. He was biting his lips in an effort to restrain his anger. "What did he say?"

"Well, you can imagine. He doesn't want to take the blame for something you did. You are the one we caught with a concealed weapon and threatening a law officer with intent."

"Who do you suppose gave me the money?"

"Are you saying Sweeny gave it to you?"

He suddenly clamped his mouth shut. It was almost as if the don't-say-anything cardinal rule suddenly asserted itself.

"Hmm...okay, I'll see what Sweeny has to say now." The inference was that the policeman's statement was being rechecked.

When he walked into the other interview room, Adrian's approach was different.

"Okay Jack, you know how these things go. We tell you why you should be charged with conspiracy to murder and you tell us a sob story about how you've been set up or had no choice."

"I'm not saying anything Detective Burton. You're wasting your time."

"Right, well luckily, I'm paid to waste my time like this, so here we go...It seems...from what we've learned, that your friend Silvio was under considerable pressure to carry out this contract killing for you. Apparently, you gave him a large sum of money...but he says he really had no choice. What sort of hold do you have over him?"

"What are you talking about?" snarled Sweeny.

"Well...it seems he had no choice...I mean making a hit on a copper is pretty extreme."

"You've got the word of a lowlife against a respected policeman...good luck."

Adrian rubbed his jaw thoughtfully. "Hmm, respected hey? Let me see...we have an envelope of money with your prints on it. We have pictures of you handing it over to Bettini..."

Sweeny's eyes narrowed and his head dropped discernibly.

"Now, as for motive...it seems that Detective Sergeant Smith has incriminating evidence of your collusion with the Stinnettis. So not only conspiracy but coercion to commit murder."

"That's not how it was!" blurted Sweeny before clamming up again.

Adrian smiled. "I'll be back," he stated.

This time he told Silvio that Sweeny had learned that Manny Lavis was doing a hit but Manny had been removed. He found out Silvio had taken him out and was trying to get some information from him. That's why they were seen at a café together.

Bettini protested that he had nothing to do with Manny's death. Maybe Sweeny killed him.

The story that he was being connected to Manny's murder riled Sweeny. He started losing his composure.

This toing and froing went on two more times before Adrian was satisfied that each accused had implicated the other sufficiently. Bettini had insisted that Sweeny had engaged his services through the Stinnettis and he was obliged to do what they wanted. And the drug squad detective had alleged that the Stinnettis had vested interests in getting rid of Smith and had forced his hand. All in all it was a tidy case of evidence against the two of them.

***

It was after midnight before Adrian staggered into bed. His mind was still racing from the events of the day so he read a passage from Ally's Bible. It was a random verse since he'd opened the book without looking. The passage was confronting and stark in its description of choice. As far as he could see there was a curse and there was a blessing. "What's this Jeremiah saying?" he muttered to himself. "I'm cursed if I trust in myself...I'm blessed if I trust in the Lord...My heart is deceitful and the Lord searches my heart to see what I deserve." Adrian grunted wryly, "That'll help me get to sleep."

He read that his heart was deceitful and beyond cure. Those words stopped his reading. Was his situation hopeless?

He put the book down but he couldn't chase the thoughts from his mind. He had always been self-sufficient, self-reliant and convinced that his own intellect would see him through. Now there was a lingering doubt. "What if he was deceiving himself?" He read some more of the detective's account of weighing the evidence for the resurrection. It became clear to Adrian that if there was any veracity in the ancient texts—and it seemed they stood the tests of eyewitness accounts and corroboration from secular texts—then the resurrection of Jesus was a more reasonable explanation than the alternatives.

He lay there on his bed tussling with the ramifications of that conclusion. It explained the determination of the early believers to stick to their account; it explained the widespread consistency of the Christian message and it offered a framework for life that was exhibited by Liam. The whole idea coincided with his perception that the youth was able to reason beyond his years.

Adrian went to sleep thinking that perhaps a change of heart was required. Maybe he would ring Ally in the morning and tell her he was reading the Bible and her book.

***

Phone calls and catching up with Ally faded to the back of his mind as he met again with Charlie and then met up with Conrad to add to his dossier of evidence against Jack Sweeny. Much of the day was spent tidying up the paperwork and identifying all the charges, though the Attorney General's office was happy to take on board the details the bureaucracy required. Adrian and Charlie were left wondering where they were in the investigation of Manny's murder. Not any closer, from what they could discern.

"So, the possibility that Manny was the victim of internal rivalry has diminished considerably with no link being established between him and Bettini," declared Charlie.

"Except that Bettini picked up his contract...but I agree they weren't rivals; they both worked for the Stinnettis and his alibi at the time of Manny's death is sound."

"So that was a bit of a waste."

"I doubt if Conrad thinks that." Adrian closed his eyes with a tight-lipped expression as if his head ached. He was thinking. The idea of starting again from a different direction, and the challenge of sorting out how to go about it, beset his mind. Data, that's what he needed; he wanted a detailed rundown of Manny's contacts, his police record and his known associates. Maybe a link could be made to a possible killer.

A late bite to eat to make up for a missed lunch break had Adrian calling Ally.

"Thought maybe you'd forgotten me," she suggested demurely.

"No chance," he reacted. "I'd like to get together again...it's just that I have this case and...well...I have to put some time into it or I won't get anywhere."

"I understand...it's fine," she sounded perky, not at all let down by his unavailability. Adrian was ambivalent at her cheery mood and was considering sacrificing some late night office time to spend it with her when she spoke again.

"Why don't you take me to church on Sunday? Maybe give you some ammunition to refute my beliefs."

He chuckled. "You're too clever for me Alison Whittle. My head is already in a spin with the stuff you're getting me to read. Are you sure you haven't cast a spell on me?"

"I sort of hope I have," she confessed.

"All right...what time Sunday?"

"Nine thirty am...Is that okay?"

"I think I'll manage...no run that morning though."

His partner had overheard. Charlie's eyes were filled with merriment. "I think you are hooked my boy." He took a sip from his coffee. "Sunday morning? Is that a church date?"

"What makes you say that?"

"I think I saw you wince when you were talking. You must be serious."

Adrian looked at him reflectively. "You know, I've been looking into it, and...There's more to it than I thought."

"To it?"

"The story of Jesus...everything I read seems to confirm what the Bible says."

Charlie shook his head. "Not for me."

The latter part of the day was meant to be taken up hunting through the records but Gordon had other ideas. He hauled the two detectives into Michaels' office, taking advantage of his absence. Conceding that their intervention in the IA investigation was timely, he was still testy at their lack of progress.

"I was assured that you are a finisher...an ace detective, Burton, but I haven't seen the evidence." He pulled a sliding whiteboard down. "We have the Clements woman...they still have nothing. Lavis' murder...nothing to show for a week's work. And now we have Calvin Eustace killed in a locked room. It's a suicide...but no, no, science knows best," he grizzled. "The gun was found in his hand but no GSR on his hands so forensics are insisting he didn't pull the trigger. Everyone thinks they're Sherlock Holmes and has a theory but they can't explain how a man is shot in a room locked from the inside."

Gordon saw Michaels and, supposedly to outline his struggles with the case load but more to justify his trespass of the office, signalled him to join them. He brought Michaels up to speed on what his concerns were. The inspector reminded the senior sergeant that the dayshift teams were his immediate responsibility; he should be the driving force regarding the direction of the investigations. Gordon didn't like the suggestion that he was responsible because his teams weren't pulling their weight.

The senior sergeant looked harassed. He confronted the two men under his direct authority. "Tell me you're getting somewhere."

Adrian twisted his mouth to one side before speaking. "Our problem is that we've eliminated all the likely suspects. That leaves us with unlikely and unknowns—not very promising I'm afraid."

Gordon mashed his face with his hands, trying to suppress a headache that threatened to break out.

Michaels intervened, "Well, maybe you can have a look at this Eustace case. Take a break from Lavis. The Attorney's office is not too fussed with gangland killings, but Eustace was an influential financier. The media are asking questions about progress."

"He was in a locked room and the gun was in his hand?" reiterated Adrian.

Gordon, wanting to show he was acquainted with the situation to his superior, inserted, "That's right. If it wasn't for the absence of gunshot residue we'd have called it suicide by now. And if you don't find anything I'm still inclined to call it. I mean, they make mistakes too. Maybe they were careless."

Michaels' raised eyebrows revealed he didn't entirely concur with his junior.

The young detective looked at his older partner. "How about we look at it now and get back to Lavis tomorrow. Chances are if we don't see anything quickly then we won't be any more successful than the others."

The inspector resolved the issue. "Fine...but make something happen will you. The only cases we've got a handle on are a one punch nightclub fight and a neighbourhood feud that escalated to a shooting."

As they left his office, he heard Gordon muttering something about, 'they call themselves detectives.'

***

Adrian and Charlie went to the new home, a recently completed mansion, of Calvin Eustace. It was a large white house, floor to ceiling French windows, impressive pillars on the covered entry porch, and one whole end had a second storey. His wife, who would inherit the estate, was still grieving. She showed them where her husband died. The room in which the victim was found was a home theatre. It had no windows and a solid door. The door had been broken down by emergency workers under the belief that the occupant had suffered a heart attack, stroke or some other medical condition. The room was in the single level section of the house where the roof abutted the second level.

Apparently, Eustace financed movies and theatre productions and had reaped handsome returns on his investments. Evelyn, his wife, talked about how he always knew what films would sell. When Adrian remarked on the beautiful home, she explained that it was a source of pride with Calvin. The house had been completed by a company that was also employed for set design and construction.

"So...how did your husband get on with the builder?"

"Builders...three brothers...and he wasn't too happy with them. He loaned them a great deal of money which they haven't paid back yet. Working on this house was to offset some of their loan."

A strange look spread across Adrian's face. He stepped out of the room and examined the walls, skirting boards and the cornices. The timber panelling contrasted with the dry wall of the rest of the hallway.

"Why the different panelling here?" he asked.

"Milton said it would help seal the room acoustically, so Calvin could play his movies loudly."

"Is there a way to get into the roof space?"

"Um...I think the access panel is in the garage. But you can't get into the room from the roof."

She had said what Charlie was thinking but he echoed her comment nevertheless.

"There's no access Ade. What do you hope to see there?"

"Just a hunch," he replied curiously.

They went to the garage and Adrian stood on the car bonnet, in his socks, to gain access to the panel. It was too dark to see much. "I need a torch and something to boost me higher," he said.

Charlie retrieved a torch from Mrs Eustace while Adrian spread a remnant of carpet on the bonnet and then placed a drum on top of that.

"You'll have to hold it," instructed Adrian.

He waited for his partner to get a firm grip before climbing to the top and hoisting himself through the gap. He was gone for several minutes before returning and lowering himself down with a self-satisfied smile.

"What is it?" asked Charlie, and Mrs Eustace looked on inquisitively.

"Mrs Eustace, what is the name of those brothers?"

"Granger...I think there was Milton and Neil and...I can't think of the other brother's name."

"Thankyou."

"So?" Charlie looked expectantly at Adrian.

"We'll need a warrant for the arrest of the Granger brothers," he announced as he cleared the car of the drum and carpet. Charlie resisted demanding an explanation in front of the widow but the first opportunity he got as they walked to the car he complained, "Well aren't you going to tell me what you found?"

Adrian tilted his head as if appreciating the wicked ingenuity of the builders. "The Grangers constructed the theatre room as a separate pod. In the roof they have a winch and pulley arrangement. By it they could lift the whole room enough to slip out under the wall before lowering it down."

"Why didn't you demonstrate it?"

"For one thing I think it was operated by a remote...and, then, I didn't think it would be wise to be standing on the room as it was lifted."

On the way to the station they talked over the cunning scheme. The brothers owed Eustace a fortune. He obviously wasn't letting them out of their liability easily, gouging cheap construction work out of them, so they hatched a plot to kill him.

"Didn't they think the winch would be found?"

"Well, from the inside, the room looked inaccessible so they probably hoped no one would look. Maybe they planned on coming back later and clearing it all out."

"Are you going to ask Gordon to let you get the warrant?"

Adrian smiled. "Gordon's had a bad week. Why don't we hand it over to him...unless you want to do it?" he added as an afterthought.

"No, no, at this stage my career's not going anywhere anyway."

Gordon had already left for home when they arrived back at the office. A call to his home indicated he hadn't arrived yet, so the two men had a celebratory takeaway Chinese meal and then got permission from a jubilant boss to obtain a warrant.

Adams, the particular judge with whom Adrian had worked previously, was grouchy at having to perform official duties from his home. He sent him onto Judge Forrester who also knew Adrian. 'He was young and new and more likely to suffer fools' thought the older judge. The growing reputation of the young detective, however, was 'grist for the mill' so to speak. Forrester was keen to learn of the investigative work and knew he could tell a colourful story to his colleagues as the adept young investigator unravelled another mystifying crime.

It had been a satisfying day. Most other people would long for a rewarding restful night and early sleep but not Adrian. He went down to his gym and took the edge off his adrenalin high by exhausting himself with weights, speedball and a lengthy swim. A brief read of the detective's conversion had him wondering if he could be as objective about biblical accounts and history to decide that it was the most reasonable conclusion and take it as being true.

Sleep should have come easily after such a strenuous day but the lingering thought of his own wickedness, defined not by flagrant evil but by his self-centredness, disturbed him so much that he whispered an exploratory prayer, "Show me who you are."

Chapter 7

Even before he was out of bed, Adrian grabbed his Bible and read. He read from Mark's gospel how Jesus healed a paralysed man and forgave him. Jesus was so different from the religious elite. He mixed with the sinners. When Adrian read: "It is not the healthy who need a doctor, but the sick. I have not come to call the righteous, but sinners," he realised that it wasn't about being good or appearing to have it all together. It was about trusting that Jesus was God and He could forgive.

***

It was a wet and drear Wednesday but his mood was buoyant. Ally crowded his thoughts as he went to work. Merely the thought of the substance of her world view, the absence of facile byplay, which made her more real than any girl he had known, enlivened him. The idea of ploughing through old files didn't dampen his mood. Charlie observed that he 'had it bad.' Adrian tried to ignore the ribbing, but glowed inwardly. Maybe he was in love.

Much of the older criminal records were still in the process of being transferred into digital format so, while Charlie worked on the newer computer files, Adrian drew the short straw and was rummaging through a pile of manila folders.

Our friend Manny started young didn't he?" he remarked as he paged through an early charge sheet. "Petty larceny...car theft...handling stolen goods...assault, the list goes on."

"Yeah, he certainly grew up on the wrong side of the tracks."

Adrian sniggered. "Charlie, are you aware of how many clichés you use?"

"I guess they just slip off my tongue," he replied with a closed-eyes, Stan Laurel type of face.

The young detective provided the mandatory chuckle. When Charlie added, "I like hamming it up," as an explanation.

Then Adrian laughed aloud at the confirmation of his initial assessment.

Heads were buried in old records for most of the morning. It was slow going. As Manny got smarter, linked with organised gangs and accessed devious legal advice, it became increasingly difficult to successfully prosecute him. Arnold, a young senior constable who had recently decided that he was going to get his detective ranking, delivered coffees for the two of them. He was being rotated through as part of a force induction program and so he was keen to watch the two homicide detectives operate.

"We're going to have to start again," decided Adrian.

"Why? I don't see what you expect to find."

"We've been looking at accomplices and witnesses. I think we have to list every single name that occurs. We have to assume that every name is someone who knows Manny and so may have a reason to deal with him."

"Ahh...if you insist. What a grind!"

It was nearing lunchtime when Adrian started scribbling notes from a particular case. He accessed the relevant court proceedings to add to his notes. A triumphant gleam was in his eyes. When Charlie eventually noticed his partner's frenetic delving from one folder, to case notes, to court records, he jabbed Arnold in the side.

"The maestro is at work. Watch him work his magic, Arnie."

Adrian didn't respond to the prodding. Instead he circled a name and then wrote in large letters, 'Mento?'

When Adrian continued to reference information, Charlie became restive. "What have you got?"

The other sat back and stretched, flexing his shoulders which had been hunched for much of the time. "Well...it's either a really weird coincidence or we have just stumbled on a major link between two crimes."

"Are you going to keep us guessing?"

"A name has cropped up...a policeman caught up with Manny Lavis in a case years ago." With raised eyebrows, wide eyes and tilted head he said, "Zane Clements."

"Zane Clements?" Charlie hadn't made the connection.

"The murder of Benita Clements out Seymour way."

Charlie digested the information. Arnold was aware that some highly significant discovery had been made but he couldn't grasp why the old detective's head oscillated like a carnival clown.

"Zane Clements worked on a case that featured our victim?"

"That's right."

"Could be a coincidence. He was a copper. He was bound to cross paths with any number of felons."

"I hate coincidences...and...it's not only because he was on a case. He was reprimanded for compromising state evidence against the respondent. In other words, he had been complicit in fouling up the prosecution's case."

Arnold interjected, "Detective Burton, are you saying that Clements was in league with Lavis?"

"What was the charge?" added Charlie.

"He was extorting protection from one of the inner city commission houses...probably working for the Stinnettis."

"If that's the case, maybe Clements was on the Stinnetti payroll as well."

"From Clements to Sweeny...what a lovely bunch of colleagues we have," bemoaned Adrian.

"Coppers are no different from anyone else...there are bad apples in every bunch."

"Will you quit it with the clichés? And I think there's a mixed metaphor in there somewhere."

Charlie snorted, "I don't know what you're talking about...seriously."

Arnold snickered at the bantering.

Without stopping for lunch the two detectives and the novice sat around Adrian's desk and enumerated a list of questions and outlined a sequence of steps that might bring about some answers. Charlie and Arnold would visit the Drug Squad and see if there were any that recalled Clements' time there. They would then sound out Lancaster's crew on their progress. "Very casually," emphasised Charlie. "Lancaster can be prickly at the best of times, so watch and learn Arnie."

Adrian listed Conrad as his first point of contact, suggesting that the Detective Sergeant would probably be keen to assist. He would then visit the Gilbertos and see if they had any recollection of Zane Clements.

Before they parted, for Arnold's benefit, Adrian spelled out the cause of their anticipation.

"Let's say that Clements is Mento. That suggests that Manny had a twenty k contract to carry out for him. It would explain why Clements was away when his wife died...and...it would suggest a motive for eradicating Manny—no witness, no payment for the contract."

Charlie jumped in on the soliloquy. "It would explain why Manny would let him in...he would be expecting payment. So, Clements gets real close and then does him in."

Adrian closed his eyes and smiled at the idiom.

"And you solve two murders for the price of one!" declared Arnold.

"Charlie, I think you're contagious," quipped Adrian in response to the junior's use of language.

***

While Adrian gathered copies of several files, his notes and a notebook, he observed Charlie's nonchalant sortie into Lancaster's camp. Burns and French were at their desks, Lancaster and Schultz were chasing up a discarded ten-millimetre pistol in the vain hope that ballistics would match it as the murder weapon.

"We are not getting anywhere...what about you guys?" he complained.

"Nuthin'" replied Burns. "Everything leads to a dead end."

"Aren't you working with Hotshot?" jibed French. "He should have solved it by now." He ended with a cynical guffaw.

"So is Clements still your main suspect?" probed Charlie.

"Never was," returned Burns. "He was nowhere near there. We have nuthin' to tie him in."

"What about inheritance...insurance...is there another woman?"

"Well, there is money I suppose." He turned to his partner. "Hey Frenchy, have we checked Clements' personal life?"

"Why are you listening to him?" snapped French. "They can't solve their murder so they come and give us advice? Give me a break."

"Might be worth checking," remarked Charlie, ignoring French's rancour. The two sauntered away. "Theoretically we should cooperate—work together," murmured the older man. "But some of these guys see it as a competition. They're all about reputations and getting the glory. Let's go see what Golding knows about Clements."

"Who's Golding?" asked Arnold.

"Detective Sergeant Golding is the head of the Drug Squad...probably the longest serving member too. If he doesn't remember Clements then no one will."

***

Conrad demanded that Adrian have a coffee with him at one of the much frequented cafés near the building. They braced themselves against a biting southerly before gaining the shelter of the cosy, mood-lit refuge with heavily timbered décor and rich coffee aromas. Sitting in a dark alcove they ordered drinks and food. Small talk about the unseasonal October weather preceded business. After a progress report on the arraignment of Bettini and subsequent charging of Sweeny, Detective Smith leaned back to allow their order to be served. "I should have listened to you," he insisted. "One mistake like that and it could be the end of me." He took a big bite from a doughnut. "So...I have a feeling you're already collecting on the debt I owe you."

Adrian filled him in a bit about the apparent correlation between the two murders. "I was wondering if you have any information on Zane Clements. He was working in the Drug Squad a number of years back...had some issues with a drug case and then seems to have been moved off to a regional station."

"Zane Clements hey? I don't think I need to dig too deep to find stuff on him. If I remember correctly, suspicions abounded that he was somehow collaborating with the drug gangs. There was nothing substantial to pin on him so he was disciplined for being incompetent."

"Are you saying he was shifted sideways?"

"Demoted, is probably a better description. He took a country posting."

"Well he seems to have done all right for himself."

"What are you saying?"

Adrian leaned back and stared at the ceiling briefly before focussing on his colleague. "You have to realise...this is all speculation, but let me run it past you anyway. Clements is suspected of colluding with drug crims. He gets implicated in obstructing justice, possibly a calculated foul up, which is construed as incompetence. His new position is in a regional station which is subsequently beset with drug crimes...I guess nobody makes any connection but I find it a touch suspect and an extraordinary coincidence. He now can afford a large acreage, a big house, some expensive transport, and modern conveniences beyond the capacity of a constable's income. No one has bothered to ask why."

The IA detective leaned forward. This was his domain. "So, you're saying that, not only is Clements of doubtful character, he may have orchestrated his wife's murder through his contact with Lavis and then got rid of Lavis." Conrad slurped his coffee as he pursed his lips in contemplation. He continued, "He saves himself twenty thousand and is the beneficiary of her life insurance." As Adrian made affirmative motions with his head, the detective sergeant rubbed his forehead as if he had a migraine.

"Do you realise how hard this is going to be to prove?" His head wagged in resignation. "You've got no evidence connecting them, only hints—they probably knew each other, his nickname could be 'Mento' and it does seem strange that when he arrives at Seymour the incidence of drug use increases." Conrad bit his lip. "There is enough for me to check his financials...I think, and do some snooping around the supply of narcotics in the area...that's about all I can commit to."

Adrian pushed his doughnut toward Conrad. "That would be great. There are a few things I should do to establish the link between Manny and Clements. And...when you inform Lancaster that Clements is being investigated, I would appreciate it if he doesn't find out I'm involved in this. From what I gather, he's protective of his cases."

"I won't tell him to begin with...not really enough to justify it without involving you. And...you know at IA we play things close to our chest."

There was a strained grimace contortion of Adrian's face. "I'm putting you in a tricky position, aren't I?"

"No, no, it's fine. We often tread carefully to begin with. We're dealing with people's careers here."

Deciding to get on with his next investigative venture, Adrian tried to douse Detective Smith's effusive thanks for his timely intervention.

"Well, it helped us get a clear idea of Manny's role and how Sweeny was in the employ of the Stinnettis. So don't fuss."

"But you prevented a killing. My family would have seen it all. And you know," he admitted with a guilty smirk, "I had to promise not to organise an arrest in our front yard again. Carol had no idea of Bettini's intentions."

"A good thing, I think," observed Adrian. He parted with promises to keep in touch and share information, leaving Smith to chew on his bonus doughnut.

Arnold left Charlie 'chewing the fat' with Golding and joined Adrian. Their visit to the Gilbertos was greeted with some disparaging comments. "Detective, you've got to stop coming here. You're giving us both a bad rep."

"Okay Joey...I get what you're saying...either I'm crooked or you're going straight."

"Don't beat around the bush do you Burton?"

"Hopefully, after today, I won't trouble you anymore."

"What do ya want?" grunted Joey.

"What can you tell me about Zane Clements?"

There was a disdainful head shake. He rose and went to the door. "Hey Nico...come and tell the good detective about Mento." The words registered with both policemen and their eyes met in confirmation—they had heard correctly.

"That scum," called out Nico. His footsteps thumped his approach. His head poked through the door as Joey sat down. "He was on the Stinnetti's payroll, just like Sweeney. Cost us a packet in raids and when we set them up and informed, like on the quiet, he weaselled them out of a conviction. He lost the coke...said it was stolen from his car."

"Ya see...Nico set em up, so he was really mad."

"They got rid of him then," chortles Nico.

"Yeah...but Sweeny took his place...heard he was nabbed today...ya did us a favour Burton."

"Do yourselves a favour," replied Adrian. "Go legit before you get shut down."

Adrian then got cheeky. "So...have you ever had coppers on the payroll?"

"Nah...it costs the Stinnetti's a bundle to have coppers on the take."

Nico whistled noisily as if venting steam. "As if we'd tell you if we did."

"And you say Clements knew Manny pretty well?"

"I reckon Mento got him out of a few scrapes," stated Joey. "He was no friend of ours. That's why we got this bar goin'. He couldn't shut down a real business."

Adrian smiled. 'Real business' was more likely a front for something else.

"Thanks for your help...stay out of trouble."

"Yes Dad," grunted Nico derisively.

***

Meeting back at his office, notes were shared. Charlie said that Burns had shown genuine interest in pursuing some motives Clements might have and Golding had nothing good to say about the former drug squad detective. Adrian gave Conrad's opinion which slated Clements' character and then he revealed how Joey had confirmed that Clements was known as Mento.

"AKA Mento hey?" drawled Charlie quite happy to exercise his penchant for jargon.

"They call those sayings 'cants'...you know, corny phrases."

"AKA Mento," repeated Charlie with a silly grin. "There y'are...I just recanted." He gurgled at his own pun.

Adrian slapped his forehead. "Everyone's a comedian," he groaned.

"There are still things we need to do before we can tighten the noose on Clements," declared the younger detective.

"Like what?"

"Burns seems amenable to some helpful suggestions...I was wondering if you could suggest that they run some ballistics on Manny's ten-millimetre Glock. Say you came across it in our investigation and there were suggestions that it might be a hitman's weapon."

"You don't want us to get it checked?" Arnold was intrigued.

"No, no, it's about etiquette."

"We're a team," expanded Charlie. "The theory is we work together."

Gordon came in and called Adrian over. "Thought you might like to see this." The other two trailed after him.

The senior sergeant pulled out some large colour prints of the Eustace home. There was a shot of the home theatre room elevated off the floor. Another shot showed a crime scene investigator demonstrating how the exit from the room was achieved.

"I'm afraid the Grangers didn't confess when confronted with the fingerprints on the mechanism in the roof, the financial motive or the timing of the murder fitting in with their lack of an alibi, so they're chancing it in court. I think the prosecutor may negotiate a lesser charge if they cooperate. I mean...we have no direct physical evidence."

"I would have thought...there was quite substantial physical evidence implicating their involvement," said Adrian.

"Yes...but because we don't know who pulled the trigger it becomes problematic whether they're all accessory to murder and conspiracy to murder."

"What does the prosecuting attorney say?" ventured Charlie.

"I wouldn't worry about it Palmer. He's sure we'll get a conviction. They can't explain away that crazy room which they built."

Back at Adrian's desk, Arnold glanced at his watch. "Crikey, I should have gone. Thanks for the day guys."

The two detectives watched him go. "We should go too, Detective Burton," announced Charlie. I believe you have a girlfriend you should be paying attention to."

Adrian could hardly conceal his smile as he thought about Ally. "No...we're meeting up on Sunday."

"Give her a call at least. You don't realise how much they appreciate a bit of attention."

"Mm...maybe you're right."

Charlie had left and Adrian was thinking about calling Ally from his desk when Gannon approached. The office was rowdy with the energy of a rostered night team. Though less in number there were some boisterous younger detectives. They had their own case load but often worked on gathering evidence and researching for the day shifts.

"So, I heard about your deductive windfall in the Eustace case. Even though Michaels was spruiking the professionalism of the force and the successful team of investigators who deliver justice...yada, yada...he couldn't disguise the fact that in one afternoon...one hour, from what I heard... you broke the case wide open."

"Hi Pete...Good to see you too." Adrian couldn't conceal his contented grin.

"So...you're going to let Gordon take the credit?" He chewed his lip and then shuddered. "Well, what about your case? Anything you want us to chase up for the Lavis murder?"

"There are some things I'm interested in...if you're happy to do some digging on the quiet." He beckoned Gannon to sit. Could you get forensics on Manny's car...Maybe dust on tyres, panels etc and see if they can match samples with a region?"

"Can I ask what you're hoping to find?"

"That he travelled to a particular place to do a job."

"Come on...you gotta give me more than that."

"Seymour. That's all I've got."

"I suppose his car's in impound... maybe I can drag a forensic guy there. Why Seymour?"

"You'll figure it out."

Adrian left then and headed off home. A call to Ally from home had her sounding very pleased.

"Oh, Adrian...How are you?"

"Pretty pleased with myself. Things are going fairly well at work...Making a few breakthroughs that I didn't expect. What about you?"

"Oh, work's okay I guess. I'm compiling annual report figures and it's a bit of a grind...but it's satisfying when it's done."

"Say...are you interested in a movie tonight...or something?"

"Oh, I'd love to but...but, I'm going to a Bible study at church. I've only been going a short while so I don't really want to miss it...You could come if you want?"

A tremor went through him as he imagined the religious solemnity of a church meeting. "Ah...I don't think I'm that convinced just yet...I'll still see you Sunday," he added, concerned his lack of enthusiasm was a total rejection of her beliefs. "Maybe I'll visit my parents."

"I'm sure they'd love that. Maybe I'll meet them one day."

"Mm...yes...we could arrange that." His mind was racing. They had no knowledge of Ally at all. They didn't know that Candace was no longer on the scene, so maybe tonight was the time to raise the topic.

Having appropriately communicated his desire to Ally to catch up soon, he ended the call and headed off toward his old home. A burger picked up along the way was an adequate, if not healthy, dinner. A call to his parent's place using a pay phone at the fast food restaurant, informed his parents that he was dropping by. Maggie, his mother, was happy to hear from him and asked if he'd already eaten. Once that was established, she said she looked forward to enjoying some supper with him.

His father, Aubrey, was also pleased and slapped his back as he came in, insisting that his visits were too infrequent.

"It's been a while Ade. What have you been up to?"

"I've been transferred to homicide. Working on a few puzzling cases."

"Homicide, hey? Is that a step up?"

"Well...it's fairly sought after, but...you know the public service...the grades are all fairly fixed across all the divisions and branches."

"So, homicide...can you talk about your case?"

"Not really...you know investigations...everything is alleged, nobody actually does anything." He quoted a cynical adage that circulated around the force.

After a brief spell in the conversation, his father asked, "Have you thought of going back to university?"

"No...not at this stage. I'm enjoying my work and I think that's the important thing."

His father hmphed breathily and Maggie intervened. "And how is Candace doing? We haven't seen either of you for a while."

Adrian cleared his throat. "Well, the truth is Mum...Candace and I have split."

"No!" Her cry showed her disappointment. "You'll make up, won't you?"

"That's not likely."

"Why? What happened?"

"It's complicated and...I don't really want to go into it."

"So who ended it?"

"Mum!"

"I just want to know...I was sure you two were happy."

"We were happy. Something happened and...well, I told her it was off."

There was silence for a moment and then his mother took orders for an evening drink and snack.

Adrian was sitting eating cake and drinking his coffee as he talked with his father about family history and whether anyone had been interested in religion.

"Your grandfather on your mother's side was a lay preacher. You could say Maggie is the black sheep of her family. Your aunts and uncles still go to church." He gave a contemptuous chuckle.

"That's not fair Aub," complained his wife. "I loved you, and, you said at the time, you had nothing against church."

Adrian realised then why church had been off limits as a conversation topic. It was still a thorny issue.

"I'm thinking of going to church," he proclaimed as a sort of challenge to his father.

"Why on earth would you do that?" he derided.

"I met a girl and...well, she invited me."

"Careful where it gets you. They don't like it if you don't believe their fairy tales."

"To tell you the truth Dad, the history is quite believable. Have you ever seriously looked into it?"

"You're joking aren't you? Nobody with any scientific training would take it seriously."

"Well there, you're wrong. I've read of several very highly qualified scientists as well as people in other disciplines who are Christians." Adrian was wondering why he was defending a faith he hadn't accepted himself. Was he that determined to counter his father's condescending dismissal of faith?

His mother's small voice interrupted tentatively. "Is that why you broke off with Candace...you found another girl?" The tone contained a mixture of regret and disapproval.

"It wasn't like that Mum," protested Adrian. "We were fighting over something...she wasn't being honest and...well, when I met Ally, I sort of recognised that I didn't care if Candace and I didn't make up."

"So, that's your new girlfriend's name...Ally?"

"She's just a friend at the moment. I'm just getting to know her."

"Why don't you bring her here after church? We could get to meet her."

Adrian gave his mother a steady look. "I could ask, but...remember, she's just a friend."

The discussion then revolved around how he met Ally, what he was doing at the hospital and, wasn't investigating supposed to be safer than that. Once he established that there was an element of risk in every branch of the force, Adrian returned to the taboo topic—religion.

His father listened quietly as he described the book he'd been given that outlined an investigator's assessment of the case for a historical Jesus and a genuine resurrection. Adrian related the suggestion that if the story had been made up, a number of details would have been different—Women wouldn't have been the main witnesses, unusual medical conditions such as sweating drops of blood, and blood and water flowing from a spear thrust would have been bypassed for more believable indications of suffering and death—and the conversions of unlikely detractors such as James and Saul would have required extraordinary evidence. He reflected on the paradox of someone in the process of evaluating the veracity of Christianity using the same arguments to confound his father.

It was an amicable talk and his mother spoke of her church upbringing as a child. She missed it. On his way out she handed him an old Bible that Maggie had said belonged to her father.

"It's an old style English and it may have notes and underlining in it, but I want you to have it."

He thanked her, not willing to disappoint her by saying that he already had a newer version courtesy of Ally. His mother had always refrained from speaking about his grandfather in deference to the abhorrence to 'religion' his father displayed, but now that Adrian had shown an interest, her latent faith had surfaced. He pondered this change from someone who had consistently avoided confrontation. He gave her a hug. There was something more appealing about her new found boldness. She must have really wanted to share something that was dear to her.

When he got to his unit he searched out the passage in Jeremiah, curious about whether his grandfather had made notes on it or underlined it. He found the page. The words were different. This time it said his heart was 'desperately wicked'. The suggestion that it was deceitful added to the question 'who can know it?' It was immediately answered that the Lord searches the heart. At least this version was less hopeless compared to 'beyond cure'.

He turned to the detective's account of his faith journey and his case analysis of Christ's resurrection. The author began citing the choices he had and the radical difference that faith had made in the lives of those who accepted the evidence and the biblical account. Adrian tried to fault the detective's reasoning and realised that every argument he himself made was reliant on the presupposition that the biblical story couldn't be true. He hadn't allowed the evidence to speak for itself.

He went back to the Bible. On the bottom of the page in tiny print his grandfather had written: 'the heart is where our affections, our allegiance lies. It can be hard against God or soft and drawn to God. It can trust in man or it can trust in God. You can be proud hearted and haughty or you can be humble.'

Chapter 8

Thursday

Thursday brought a glimmer of sunshine through breaking clouds. The fluffy pillars amongst patches of blue belied the bracing wind. Adrian's attention, as he walked from the car park, was drawn to the previously mundane. He seemed to appreciate commonplace phenomena—rustling leaves, bustling feet, hustling and muscling pedestrians being sucked into workplace edifices. His greetings to co-workers were bright, almost jovial. Today his ardent appetite for unravelling the threads of entangled clues and weaving them into a coherent scenario was greater than ever.

"What's jollied your life?" submitted Charlie in response to Adrian's ebullient mood.

"I'm beginning to think that everything fits, that everything makes sense."

"In this case?"

"In the universe."

"Go on..." the refrain was dubious.

"No...I mean even the things that don't make sense...It makes sense that they don't make sense."

"Now you've got me bamboozled," related Charlie with a shake of his head. "What doesn't make sense that makes sense?" He sounded tentative as he asked, not sure if the question made sense.

"Well, God for instance. To be God it sort of makes sense that we can't make sense out of him. But he is reason itself."

"Whatever you say, you're the guru," equivocated Charlie, unwilling to wrestle with the arcane concepts of a higher being. "Where are we at today?"

"Chase up what Burns has found out about Clements and I'll call Gannon...see if anything turned up on the dust samples."

"Any correlation in the dust samples will only link Manny to Mrs Clements' death. All the other stuff about Clements himself will be circumstantial. I can't see how we can tie him to the murder or conspiracy to murder with Manny dead." The older detective rubbed his neck as if the problem caused an allergic reaction.

"Think of it as a wedge. Every bit we dig up on Clements, the probe goes deeper and it opens up the case more."

"Aren't you supposed to close cases?" countered Charlie.

"You're ruining my metaphor. How about; you have to see what's inside the case before you close it?"

Their jousting with words ended with the appearance of Gannon swaggering in. His supercilious pursed-lips expression portended news of some significance.

"What are you still doin' here?" asked Charlie.

"Well, you guys get me to rush around all night doing your dirty work..." He waited dramatically. "...and it paid off."

"What have you found?" Adrian's query was subdued, almost as if he already knew what evidence Gannon had uncovered.

The three of them leaned in. A joint appreciation of the confidentiality of the information was apparent.

"A plaster cast of the tyre marks from Benita's murder scene had traces of dust and sand. It matched the grit found on Manny's shoes. That suggests that he was there," summed up Gannon.

"Or at least his shoes were," quipped Adrian. "What about matching the tyres of Manny's car?"

Gannon grinned broadly. "Did that too...and it was a match...I told you I was busy."

"So...we've got Manny Lavis the likely killer of Benita Clements. We know he was a contract killer and we know that he knew Clements from his early days in the force. It strongly suggests that Clements organised the contract."

"Gannon brushed his nose as if he'd come across a bad smell. "I'll leave it to you guys to tell Lancaster you solved his murder. I deserve a good day's rest."

"Thanks Ganny," prompted Charlie.

"Yeah thanks...we really appreciate it. But it's too early to nail it down." Adrian looked purposefully at Charlie. The next step registered almost immediately. Charlie said it.

"Burns?"

"That's right...chat to Burns about the ballistics on the Glock." He looked up. He's not in yet. I'll catch him when he arrives."

"I'll leave you guys to it," said Gannon as he waved and turned away, collecting some things from his desk as he went.

After watching Gannon depart, Charlie wrinkled his brow in thought. "What do we do about Clements?"

"Somehow we have to tie him to the murder scene at Manny's, establish a clear motive, find the weapon and get him to incriminate himself."

"Well, he's not going to do that. He's a copper. We'll have to rely on the evidence."

Adrian shook his head vigorously. "There is no hard evidence. Everything is circumstantial. We're not going to get the Gilbertos to testify about Clements knowing Manny or being called Mento. We've got no forensic evidence tying him to Manny and, at the moment, we're inferring he's the one because the two murders coincide in timing and suspects. That won't convict anyone."

"So...how is he going to implicate himself in two murders?"

"We'll have to come up with something," Adrian said plainly.

Burns had come in and was greeting French and razzing him about his football team's chances. Charlie murmured, "When Burns finishes shooting the breeze, I'll sound him out on the Glock."

Adrian sighed. "Charlie...you've got to stop watching those old movies. You're like a soundtrack from an old gangster film."

"Are you the dirty rat that shot my brother," growled Charlie in his gravelly rendition of what he thought was a Cagney classic.

"Heaven help us," groaned his partner. "Go and talk to Burns." He dismissed him as he looked down at his notes.

Lancaster had joined his team with Schultz. When Charlie wandered over heads turned and some animosity simmered, bubbling beneath the surface.

"How you guys doing with the Clements' case?"

'We're going fine Palmer," whined Lancaster. "You stick to trying to figure out why someone would want a hitman dead and we'll do the difficult case."

"Just askin'." He ignored the senior constable in charge. "How did ya go with his personal life?" he asked Burns. The other detective didn't really appreciate being opened up to criticism from his team leader by Charlie's plain question.

Lancaster scowled at Burns as he answered. "Well...it seems he is a bit of a womaniser. There may be one or two other women on the scene...so...it could be a motive if he was a suspect. But none of the relationships are a serious alternative to his marriage."

"I can't believe it. You runnin' around for Palmer now?" whinged French.

"Stop wasting our time Palmer...Come on Schultz, we've got some druggies to interview," Lancaster snapped. "You two check out his old case files for possible enemies of Clements. It could still be a revenge killing." He stomped out. Schultz followed quietly obedient. He hated office politics.

French continued the acrimony generated by Lancaster sneering at Charlie, "Why don't you and junior mind your own business. Stop trying to grandstand in everyone else's investigations." He got up and strode off to the records room. "You comin' Burns?"

"I'll be there in a minute," he called back. Burns looked up at Charlie. "Thanks Palmer." The phrase was ironic. But he was resilient and recognised some coherent thought coming from Adrian's team. "What has Burton got in mind that he wanted to know about Clements' relationships?"

"Come over. I'll let him tell you."

Adrian looked up as the two came to his desk. "Ade, Alan wants to know why we're curious about Clements."

Adrian looked up. "What did you find out?"

"That he's not a saint but there was no evidence he was going to leave his wife."

"So, he plays around...did you ask his wife's friends what she thought about it. If she was going to divorce him it means he potentially loses half his wealth...he has a big place. That could be motive."

Burns shook his head. "Clements was in another state. That was confirmed. What point is there in finding a motive when he couldn't have done it?"

A lengthy pause ensued while Adrian examined the other detective. Adrian was only a couple of years his junior and yet he had risen in esteem because of the stories that circulated. Burns was keen to hear an explanation.

"Could you find out for us if Benita was considering a divorce and we'll provide a ten-millimetre Glock that might be the murder weapon?"

He looked stunned. "You think you have the murder weapon?" His expression told of the mental gymnastics he was trying to perform to get to his conclusion. "You think Manny Lavis took out Mrs Clements?"

"We'll give you the gun and you tell us."

"Lancaster will not like this one little bit," he declared with a slight smirk.

"I'll talk to Norm when he gets back and explain what we've found out...but expediting the ballistics check would make it a lot easier. We may be on the wrong track."

Charlie interrupted. "Let's go to the evidence lockers now. I'll get Chantelle to book out that Glock to forensics."

Ten minutes after they'd gone French came back in. "Where's Burns? He's supposed to be helping me down in records."

"Chasing up something in forensics," returned Adrian.

"Ahh...what a joke...somebody else find a ten millimetre?"

"I think so."

He breathed a curse. "Do they have any idea how many guns are out there. You can't just run everyone through a ballistics check just hoping." His departure was associated with more mutterings of discontent.

***

Compiling his list of circumstantial evidence gave Adrian cause to feel satisfied. The pieces were falling into place. Dust match and tyre match, so far calibre match and hopeful of matching striations from ballistics, name confirmation of Mento in interview, possible relationship problems motive, previous history between the two men and the timing sequence of events that fitted the storyline.

Some questions were jotted down that needed further examination—why newspaper fibres on Manny's person? Did Clements own a nine-millimetre gun? And, had anything been removed by Clements from the murder scene?

He went up to Internal Affairs and spoke with Conrad. Little was gained though. They were still compiling the case against Sweeney and were having to deal with his lawyer and the police union, so the process had to be meticulous. He implied that he might be able to send out feelers regarding the integrity of Clements and his possible involvement in the regional drug trade but Smith stressed that he wouldn't be able to correspond any further about it, and Adrian might never know whether they investigated or not. Adrian left understanding why, but was still disappointed that he couldn't add to his arsenal of supporting documents.

For some time he assembled a file of all their leads and evidence relating to the proposition that Manny had killed Benita Clements. He knew that protocol demanded he hand it to the officer in charge of the investigation. When he closed the folder, he wondered what Lancaster would think.

His mind went to the connection between the two crimes. Pinning it on someone who worked alone, had experience with police procedures and was clearly devious and calculating, would be an arduous task. Adrian sat meditatively considering what the murderer was like. As a policeman Clements had been issued with a 38 Smith and Wesson but that was not the murder weapon. No shell casings had been found, which meant that the murderer was aware of the incriminating clues these could provide. In addition to the firing pin action marks on the back of the casing, which can often be directly tied to a particular gun, sometimes fingerprints can be found on the casings. And the murderer had removed whatever had provided the newspaper and material fibres. Why would he bother unless it was pertinent, or somehow revealing clues about him?

He was jolted back to the immediacy of his role with Charlie's garrulous greetings to another team handing out takeaway meals and hot drinks. Charlie came over and remarked, "I don't think Alan is real keen on being on Lancaster's crew."

"Why's that?"

"Er...he just said some things about the way he treats them...anyway...we took the gun to O'Donnell down in the lab and he's keen to get it done...so we should get a confirmation one way or the other."

"Charlie...how is it a confirmation one way or the other? It is either confirmed or refuted."

Charlie thumbed his nose. "You know...you can be a real pain sometimes Ade. And I've only worked with you a few weeks."

"I'm just here to help you with the finer points. You'll thank me one day."

"I doubt it very much," he grumbled.

He sat on the corner of the desk. "He's going to interview some of the local women who knew Benita. Find out if there was friction in the Clements' home."

"So what does French think about his partner going it alone?"

"I don't think he knows."

"Oh."

"You're not happy?"

"It's not how we should work. We're on the same team. Lancaster has every right to be annoyed if he's kept in the dark." Adrian took a deep breath. "I'll talk to him when he comes in."

Charlie had a wry smile. He anticipated an uncomfortable encounter. "Rather you than me," he conceded. Then more brightly, "So...how are we going to trap Clements? What is the grand plan?"

Over the next two hours copious notes were taken, phone calls were made and maps were consulted.

"We'll need a much larger team," remarked Charlie.

"Yeah, well we can't do anything until we get the go ahead...and we won't get that if we can't get a warrant."

"Do we have enough?" The sentence was incomplete but Adrian got the gist of what he meant.

"Well, we're convinced. But it may take a little more to sway a judge. I'll try and construct alternative explanations for what we've found to compare the particulars and determine which account appears to be most reasonable. If it's clear that our interpretation is a standout then it shouldn't too difficult." A brief evoking of another 'most reasonable' explanation insinuated into his thoughts.

Charlie's stomach rumbled. He looked at his watch. "How about we break for lunch for a change. It's nearly three."

"Fine...but I was hoping to catch Lancaster."

"You've got Buckleys," he announced. "He and Schultz are haring up north. One of the drug users he wanted to interview has done a runner."

"Not ideal," commented Adrian as he stood, stretched and then departed with his older companion for a well-earned break.

***

They were buttonholed by Burns the moment they re-entered the office.

"O'Donnell tells me it's the murder weapon...no doubt about it. He's returning it to the evidence locker with his report and putting a cross reference in our...the Clements' evidence box."

"Well...that pretty well ties up Lancaster's case," chortled Charlie. "I don't think he'll be too pleased with us."

"Why?" disputed Adrian. "Alan is in his team, and he submitted the gun?"

"Yeah but...Norm doesn't have a clue what's going on. You drop this in his lap...he'll be furious."

Burns' brow furrowed. "What'll I do?"

"You have to give him a call...tell him there's been a break in the case and you have the murder weapon."

"What if he asks how I got the gun?"

"Tell him you'll fill him in on all the details when he gets in. That will give me a chance to speak with him and negotiate a joint effort to work on both murders."

Burns went and made his call. Two sets of eyes kept monitoring his progress. He looked across and shook his head. Several more attempts resulted in the same response. He slouched back to the other two detectives. "He must be out of range...there's no answer on his unit radio."

"Oh well...it'll have to wait till tomorrow." The statement was made with a resigned awareness that things could get heated the next day. Burns left as Adrian and Charlie measured out the steps that would achieve their desired goals. Senior permission to get a warrant was essential. Then they should try and pacify Lancaster and get his cooperation.

While they were formulating the most tactful approach to Gordon, Burns came back in. "Haven't seen French anywhere have you?" He had a bemused expression.

"No, why?" queried Charlie.

"Michelle in records said he was fed up and left...didn't say where he was going."

"He's got his nose out of joint...should've persuaded him to work with you," summed up Charlie.

"Maybe give him a call...and try and get him on board." Adrian was already seeing the growing hostility and factionalism developing in the squad. They needed to mend some fences.

"Oh yeah," added Burns as if the news of the gun ballistics had temporarily obliterated what he had been doing that afternoon. "I spoke to one..." He got out his notebook and flipped through some pages. "...Giselle Mannix. She's an acquaintance of Benita Clements...or was. She said Benita had been talking about divorce for months...ever since she learned about her husband's infidelity. Sort of adds to your suggestion that he wasn't pleased with the possibility of divorce...but you've got Lavis pegged for the murder already.

It took a minute as he digested the information. If ever a light bulb moment was apparent on someone's face it was then. "You think Clements took a contract out on his wife!" He relayed his thinking. "Of course, you'll have the devil of a job proving it now that Lavis is dead...oh...Wow...you think..." He didn't have to say the rest. Their faces turning to him was all he needed.

"Wow," he repeated for extra effect.

Adrian went to see Gordon but the senior sergeant was out. He went to the office and waited to see Inspector Michaels. When Michaels heard what he wanted he referred him upstairs to Reynolds. The superintendent was completing performance interviews of senior armed robbery squad detectives. Through the glass his face looked severe. He was giving a pep talk to team leaders. Heather, his PA —and someone who had taken a shine to Adrian—had hinted that the squad was under review and may be disbanded or reformed under a different structure. Adrian was sure she was saying more than she should but secretly he revelled in the ability he had to draw out information and be a confidante to others.

Once in Reynolds' office, Adrian outlined the reasons why he needed a search warrant. He clarified his position by describing how Gordon wasn't in and Lancaster was out of contact and Michaels had referred the decision.

"I'm happy for you to call it Superintendent. I mean...Lancaster has every right to know that his case impinges critically on ours and that we stumbled on cracking his case."

"Hog's wallop Burton. You didn't stumble on anything...Don't apologise for good police work." He rubbed his mouth thoughtfully. "You can go and get that warrant. I don't think you'll have too much trouble. But don't enact it until Lancaster is on board. It's good for morale if we work together on this...and don't worry, I'll try and get Michaels to fill in George on the status of your investigation." A glance at his wall clock defined his next order. "It will keep till tomorrow. Get home and have a life, detective. If you don't get balance, we'll lose you to stress or mental illness."

"Yes sir."

"And Adrian..."

"Yes sir?"

"Great work."

"Thank you sir." There was a sense of elation to get a commendation from the superintendent. "He knew there were things he still had to do but it would wait until the next day.

***

Chapter 9

Instead of going directly to work the next morning, Adrian went to the chambers of Judge Forrester. He was the official who had issued Adrian's previous warrant. The judge, as was his custom, had started early and invited Adrian to join him for a coffee. Forrester was one of the youngest judges ever appointed and had a quirky sense of humour. Also, Adrian was to find out, he had an interesting idiosyncrasy. He was exceptionally inquisitive about Adrian's deductive reasoning and how he accomplished his remarkable success rate.

As his secretary brought in a tray with hot drinks and cake he began. "So Detective Burton...Adrian isn't it?"

"That's right Judge Forrester."

"Call me Louis..." His tongue explored his top lip as he began his inquisition. "So, how did the bank robbery case go?" He asked even though he had already had a couple of versions of Adrian's wizardry. He wanted to hear it from the sleuth himself.

"Well, it turned out that the accountant had contrived to make it look like outsiders had used cleaners to position cameras and gain vault details. All the while he had organised the gang anonymously, apart from a brother in-law who led the gang. As far as the rest of the gang knew, the brother in-law had organised them to become cleaners and to record the combinations, with the promise of riches."

"Yes, it was a clever ruse. You know they caught the last two the other day?"

"I did hear that," admitted Adrian.

They discussed the small details that alerted Adrian to Vincent's involvement in the robbery before the judge moved to the cause for the current warrant.

"Ah...yes, I did hear you are in Homicide now." He snorted almost derisively. "I'm sure you'll shake up George. I heard you had the Granger brothers' staged suicide plot exposed. It's always the little things, hey?"

Adrian knew he referred to the GSR, but, to his mind, it was the macro aspect of the crime that obscured the crime. Building a moveable room was hardly a little thing. He only snuffled agreement and drew Forrester's attention to the business at hand.

Adrian went through the probable causes that put Clements under suspicion. His links to Manny, his chequered past, the timing of the crimes, his apparent affluence and his marital issues. He didn't mention Smith's possible investigation into the region's drug scene since, by regulation, he should have no knowledge of internal investigations.

"I see where you're going with this but I'm not sure you have enough. I can see all these as merely unfortunate or disconnected circumstances. I don't think you'll get a search warrant on these grounds."

"What would it take?" explored Adrian tentatively.

The young judge laughed. "You tell me...As far as I can tell, this was a fishing expedition."

The sideways scrunching of Adrian's mouth revealed his dilemma. He needed to reconsider his recruitment of Lancaster's team if they couldn't work a scheme.

"You look perplexed detective...Never mind, I'm sure you'll come up with something. You have to recognise my position. I have to protect the rights of a fellow law officer; I need just cause, not simply your gut feeling."

Adrian rose, shook Forrester's hand, thanked the judge for his time and then continued the journey to the office. All the while his mind worked feverishly on the problem. No search warrant, no evidence, no indictment. There must be another way, he reasoned.

Sitting at a traffic light, Adrian suddenly thumped the steering wheel. He had it. A sting. The question was would Gordon...or, more concisely Michaels, allow him to pull it off. The details started to flood into his head. With a recording of the phone conversation—if it worked—surely he would have due cause to get a warrant.

***

There was considerable ferment at headquarters when Adrian walked in. Lancaster was balling at Burns. Palmer was sitting head down at his desk while the others from Lancaster's team watched expectantly.

"I'll ask one more time, where did you get the gun? Why are you canvassing friends of Clements' wife about their marriage?"

Burn's face started to flush as he sought the words to deflect Lancaster's demands for a full explanation. Everyone looked up at Adrian as he approached.

"What do you want Burton?" barked the irate detective.

"I'm here to explain what's happened."

"You...I shouldda known you'd be behind this."

Adrian looked grim and momentarily clenched his jaws. He refrained from lashing out at his colleague. "I gave the gun to be checked out. It was a ten millimetre and belonged to Manny Lavis. He did contract killings so it was a possibility. Turns out it was his gun. Gannon found that Manny's car had been there...so it clearly suggests he's the killer."

There was a stunned silence. Looking around at the group, Adrian noticed a sly smile on Schultz's face. French was red eyed and looking frazzled. Adrian concluded that he'd been on a bender the previous day, sneaking off from work when he couldn't find Burns and spending the time in some bar. Lancaster was incensed. His breathing was rapid, his upper lip curled and his nostrils flared.

"Norm, I'm hoping you and your team will now join us in nailing Manny's killer."

There was a grunt of disgust. "You've got to be kidding. You fluke a connection to another crime which solves our case and so you expect us to help you. Can ya believe this guy?" he ranted. "Listen Burton...we're going to have a quiet afternoon writing up our solved murder case while you people scrabble around trying to work out who could possibly want a thug and contract killer dead. Good luck," he sneered.

Soon after Gordon bowled in. It was clear Lancaster had been on the phone complaining to his boss.

"Burton, I want you in the inspector's office." There was a glimmer of malice from Lancaster as Adrian went in. Michaels was out so he could only assume he was in for a tongue lashing.

"Not quite the team player are we Burton?" Gordon began. Then without giving Adrian a chance to speak he launched into a diatribe. "Norm tells me you've been sitting on his evidence, impeding his investigation by diverting members of his team and pursuing witnesses involved in his case. It's not on Burton. Lancaster was running the Clements' investigation; he should have been given everything pertinent to the case. We don't grandstand here. I know you think you're a bit of a Sherlock Holmes but we have protocols. If you can't follow them you can go to another department."

By this time, Adrian's righteous indignation was igniting a fuse. He sensed that he would say something cruel and derogatory to the detective senior sergeant if he didn't leave then. However, words did escape.

"You don't know what you're talking about George," disputed Adrian. He turned about and started to leave.

"You'll be on report for this Burton!" boomed Gordon loud enough for those near the office to hear, even with the closed door.

"Better make sure you get your facts right," asserted Adrian. He exited leaving Gordon simmering.

The rest of the morning was awkward for those that remained in the office. Burns was downcast, worried about how Gordon viewed his actions. He compliantly detailed the evidence of the gun ballistics and the tyre treads and dust. It appeared he was left with the bulk of the work composing case notes as penance for his liaison with the 'Burton crew'.

Lancaster and the others detailed approximate time lines and a flimsy motive, speculating that Lavis' past dealings with Clements caused the killer to either act in revenge or resentment. Revenge for some imagined falling out with Clements and a crime of passion which suggested that his amorous approaches to Mrs Clements had been rejected. Neither theory had any substantive corroboration.

Adrian and Charlie muttered about Gordon's blinkered assessment regarding what had gone on, before resuming an analysis of what was required to get a search warrant and whether audio confession of complicity would be enough to indict Clements. Adrian opted for an early lunch at a local cafeteria to outline to Charlie his theories and plan of action.

They were hardly seated when words flowed. "Before you say anything," directed Charlie. "I'd just like to say that I reckon you did everything you could have to include Norm."

"Why are you saying that?"

"Because, I don't think Gordon wants you around anymore. He didn't sound too happy today."

"Don't worry about Gordon. We'll defend ourselves if the report comes to a head." He glanced at the menu. "I might go for the shepherd's pie."

Charlie sniggered. He perused the offering for some time before deciding on a quiche.

"Out with it Sherlock. Fill me in on your latest inspired deductive brilliance that incisive logical brain of yours has produced. Put me out of my misery," he requested snootily.

"Well..." He stopped as a waitress came for their orders. Adrian bantered with the girl about men ordering quiche. Charlie bit his lip with restraint. "Have you no shame?" he asked. "Chatting up that poor girl. I thought you had a girlfriend."

"I was just being friendly," he protested.

"You're going to church with...what's her name?"

"Ally."

"Yes...Ally...I think that means no more flirting!" he teased.

"I was just being friendly."

The older man laughed heartily. Seeing the self-conscious defensiveness of his partner.

Adrian was po-faced. He didn't see the joke.

"Lighten up Ade. It was funny seeing you backpedal. Maybe this girl's getting under your skin." The younger detective looked up and reluctantly conceded the point.

"Maybe you're right. I do keep thinking of her."

"Well, how lucky are you then? You've got a date with her to go to church." It was clear Charlie was enjoying the time together.

The real discussion began with the delivery of their meals. Adrian tentatively reran his thinking about the newspaper fibres.

"I asked myself what Clements would bring with him that might match the fibre evidence. It was something he had to take with him when he left. It wouldn't likely be a newspaper because it's hard to dream up a convincing reason why he would bring one, hand it to Manny, shoot him and then take it again."

"But forensics were certain that it was newspaper fibre and a trace of fabric," argued Charlie.

"You're right. So, I submit Clements brings a cloth bag. In it he has a whole lot of newspaper pieces made to look like wads of money. He gives it to Manny. As Manny reaches in to look at the cash he gets shot. Then Clements takes the bag back because it would be a possible lead indicating a payoff gone sour."

Charlie said nothing as he ate and thought. Then abruptly he commented, "It fits...and I can't, for the life of me, think of any other situation that could match. So... what's your plan?"

Adrian went through his slightly unorthodox idea. He mentioned Douglas Clay as a likely recruit and enumerated the steps that he hoped would score them a warrant from Forrester. Once they had that he was fairly sure a thorough search would uncover incriminating evidence. And when they had that well...they needed to make amends...invite Gordon or even Michaels in on the arrest.

Charlie quizzed him on using Dougie Clay since the homicide detective usually rotated through unsociable and intrusive shifts till he maxed out on his overtime allowance.

"I bumped into him the other day. He's got the perfect, rough, ungrammatical speech that we need to convince Clements that he's talking to a streetwise thug." Adrian pulled a face. "But don't you mention a word of that to Clay."

When he had finished, Charlie gazed at him, leaning back in his chair, his hands behind his head and a leg crossed over displaying a nonchalant air. "You realise that on Monday you might be dragged off the case. You might even be shifted to another squad...who knows, you might be sitting in an office searching for embezzlement data or company fraud."

"Gee...thanks for that Charlie...nice to know who to look to for support."

"I couldn't resist," gurgled his partner. "You sound so sure of yourself; a little humility wouldn't hurt."

Adrian was taken aback. His grandfather's notes in the Bible said the choice was between pride and humility. It was clear, even if he didn't admit it, that others thought he was a proud man.

***

Squalls of biting rain greeted them as they dashed across the road and back into their building. It looked like several of the squad had gone to the pistol range to renew their firearms accreditation. Schultz was giving Burns a hand with the crime documentation. Gunston and Hale, the two who Charlie called Gunner and Skip, were recently in from a domestic shooting. The culprit was in hospital with a self-inflicted wound; his partner was dead. They would spend the afternoon recording all the details including witness statements, crime scene descriptions and the procedures used for handling evidence—in particular, the gun.

Charlie gathered personal information about Senior Constable Clements from Schultz, who had interviewed him when they were first investigating his wife's murder. He also gained background data from police records. At the same time Adrian gave Conrad a call. It was an 'off the record' chat about what could be considered unlawful entrapment compared with authorised undercover monitoring. He strongly advised seeking permission from superiors and giving them the kudos if it paid off. His contention was that they take the heat if it backfires. Adrian couldn't imagine Gordon taking responsibility for his exploits if they were failures, although he would likely be front and centre if plaudits were on offer. He wondered if it were possible to bypass him for Michaels or even Reynolds. Adrian knew that it would not be an action that would win him friends and was entirely inappropriate in terms of the chain of command, nevertheless it was worth considering. He sat and brooded about it.

To their credit, Gunner and Skip—who were the detectives Gordon relieved from investigating Manny's death—held no grudges regarding the Lavis case, especially since he'd had it for weeks now and was still, to their way of thinking, a long way off a breakthrough. They came over and made some small talk about his effort in cracking the murder of Benita Clements and made some not-so-flattering remarks about Lancaster's lack of gratitude.

"He's just going to stamp it as another case solved as if he had anything to do with it," scowled Skip.

"It's not worth worrying about," replied Adrian. "As long as we solve it we're good. That's right isn't it Charlie?"

"Ahh...yeah, we're good." The last statement was ambiguous enough for Adrian to grin. He had to admit, he liked the old guy.

***

There was an empty feeling in Adrian's stomach as he headed off home. His apartment conveyed a feeling of desolation, of aloneness, and he called Ben in an attempt to stave off the reality of his social isolation. Life had been work, Candace and her friends, and Ben. Now, work was becoming an ongoing ordeal, Candace and her carefree, fun-loving friends were no longer a part of his life and only Ben was the one dependable, reliable, fraternal relationship he had.

"What's up Ade?" he answered when Adrian identified himself.

"Wondering whether you're up for anything tonight. Had a lousy week and I need a bit of distracting."

"I thought Candace was your Friday night distraction."

"It's over...we split." His words weren't as bitter as he expected. It was more a statement of fact.

"What...you guys? You'll get together again...won't you?"

"No...I don't think so...I mean, Candace was fun...but we weren't going anywhere."

"I thought that's what you preferred."

"Well...I won't go into it...but we've gone our separate ways. Anyway...thought you might want to do something...How about bowling?"

"Wait a sec..." there was some muffled talk at the other end before Ben resumed speaking. "Listen...you up for a double date?"

"Hey? What do you mean?"

"Umm...I haven't mentioned it but..." His voice sounded bashful. "I've got a girlfriend...Taya and, well, she has a sister Sissy, who'd like to go bowling."

Suddenly, working out at the gym seemed a good alternative. But, aware that Ben was trying to be helpful, and reasonably curious about his new relationship, Adrian acceded to the social minefield of a blind date.

Both girls were surprisingly alike and quite attractive. A hamburger meal with milkshakes preceded the game. The pseudo competitive nature of the game and the good humour of their interactions led to a second game. While Ben and Taya walked hand in hand, Sissy quizzed him on his work and spoke of her final year of studies at university. She was intrigued that he actually investigated crimes that were reported on the news. Although he didn't go into details, he did admit, when asked, that he had some role in the arrest of the Granger brothers—a crime that had appealed to the media for its audacity and the way it lent itself to numerous diagrams and back stories.

At the end of the night Sissy expressed her enjoyment and gave him a peck on the cheek as Ben and Taya were waiting in his car. "Thanks again for the night," she said softly. "I don't suppose I'll see you again?"

"Why do you say that?" he asked.

"You've got another girl on your mind. Is it your ex?"

"No, it's someone else. Someone who is challenging who I am."

"Oh...that's strange. You should be happy with who you are." Her eyes glistened a little with regret.

"I should thank you too Sissy. You've been great company."

She smiled. "Well, whenever you need great company again, give me a call." She gave him another peck on the cheek and then left. He remained standing outside the bowling alley, musing on the warmth that affection brings.

***

Early morning greeted him with watery sunshine. The night's sleep had been ambushed by self-doubts and ravaged by the anticipated storm of rebuke that was sure to ruin his Monday. He ran long and hard. The seashore was quiet with the brisk, cool breeze coming off the bay. Humility. That was what he lacked. He was self-assured, condescending of those who struggled to see the patterns and clues and motivations that whirled in his mind. He summed himself up. "I don't think I'd like me if I met me."

The thought lingered. How did Ben cope? How did Charlie manage to work with him? Granted Charlie was thick skinned and nothing seemed to disturb him. An appeal to a higher power occurred to him then.

"God, if you're there...I want you to change me."

The exhausting run necessitated a follow up shower and then he breakfasted. He read more of the detective's journey to faith and then continued reading the Bible. He read on from where he'd stopped in Mark. The words of Jesus, the actions of Jesus, all spoke of someone who knew men's hearts. He exposed layer upon layer of hypocrisy amongst the religious. He forgave and healed the penitent and poor, and the ones who had no pretensions. And, it wasn't as though he was considered a charlatan. Instead of calling him out as an imposter, his enemies, the authorities, condemned him for performing miracles against their rules and accused him of gaining his power from demons. Jesus' instructions to heed the word which was spread as a sower spreads seed, came with a warning. "Consider carefully what you hear." Those words resonated with Adrian. Jesus wanted followers who came to reasoned decisions, people who witnessed his actions and words and weighed the evidence.

He gave Ally a call and suggested a drive along the bay. Hesitant at first, she agreed when he shared that he'd had a dreadful Friday and needed cheering up. A café halfway along the seaside route provided some refuge from the blustery wind. They talked for some time. Adrian admitted that the arguments set out in the book she'd given him were compelling but not conclusive.

"They'll never be conclusive," she advised. "There has to be room for accepting the evidence and trusting that it's sufficient to believe."

"Sufficient to believe," he repeated.

"They call it faith."

He confessed that he 'wasn't there yet', and then went on citing passages that he found portrayed Jesus as an idealist and revolutionary who showed compassion and offered hope. The way he forgave wrongdoers was hard to understand, said Adrian, until you see yourself as one of those wrongdoers. He thought that was the trouble with the religious leaders. They never saw themselves as people needing forgiveness.

"Wow, you really are getting into this aren't you?"

Yeah, well...I have to say it makes me feel guilty...the way I think of my boss...the way I treated my ex-girlfriend..."

"Go on," interrupted Ally as she leaned forward with her cup held in two hands. "You've got my attention."

He pulled a face. It wasn't easy to say. "She...she lied to me about a date with another guy...and...and I told her I couldn't forgive her."

"Do you think you will?"

"I think I'll have to but...but I know now that we'll never get together again."

"Why not?"

"I guess because we were all about fun and image and it was all...very superficial. I mean we'd never talk about deep stuff like this."

"Oh..." Ally rubbed her forehead self-consciously and had a weird half smile. "What are you trying to say?"

"Er...maybe...that I've never met anyone like you."

"Is that good?" Her head was down and her eyes peered impishly through her fringe.

"I think so...I mean...I'm glad I've met you."

She smiled broadly. Adrian continued on less certainly. "And while I'm confessing stuff...I should say I went out on a double date last night with a friend and two sisters. I guess I was desperate to stop thinking about work. Anyway, I guess it was clear that I was thinking about you."

"Are you getting me back for teasing you about Liam?"

"No, no, I just want to be honest with you."

Ally grasped onto his hand and said thank you. Then went into interrogative mode. "So...what was her name...your girlfriend?"

"Candace. We've been going out for about a year...But it's over now." He punctuated the sentence by tapping his knuckles on the table as if it required that clarifying diagnosis.

With gentler breezes and warming sunshine, the afternoon lured them out for a lengthy walk along the cliff face. Gulls wheeled through the updrafts as they traced the path down to the shore. Shoes came off and jean cuffs were rolled up. The walk was tantalised by the rippling waves wetting their feet and a point in time when hands clasped. It was like a culmination of desires and expectations being embodied by the meshing of fingers.

Personal stories and family details were swapped. Ally's mother was returning during the week and so she suggested that the following Sunday would be a good time to get together for a family lunch.

"So...you're an only child and there's three of you on the orchard?"

"That's right. And, I love this time of year, when the apple blossoms come out...I mean, they're almost finished now...It's just so beautiful." Her eyes sparkled and he brushed away the hair that was blown across her face.

"You're beautiful," he said.

Her nose crinkled as she smiled. "I bet you say that to all your girlfriends."

"Are you saying you're my girlfriend?"

"Maybe."

It was then that Adrian negotiated lunch after church.

"You want me to meet your parents?" she asked.

"Why not? I'll be meeting your mum next week."

"Hadn't you better check first?"

"You don't know my mum. She'll bend over backwards to meet you."

"So, tell me about your family again."

"My dad's a maths professor, Mum was a nurse, my eldest brother, Adam, is a doctor and Andrew is a lawyer."

"Wow...do you think I might be a bit of a disappointment to them?"

"They'll love you. I'm the one Dad had higher expectations for." She squeezed his hand. He smiled. "What do you say?"

"Okay...if it's all right with them."

He rang and arranged the get together. Ally manage to contort her face to describe the discomfiting anxiety she felt when he told her it was on. The trip back to her place was spent alleviating her fears that he was in some elite social set. He confided that his mother would love the fact that she had a faith, though his father was not a fan. Ally also induced him to stay for a Chinese takeaway meal with her father and an evening of scrabble. The worries of the week seemed to evaporate with the convivial company and the hilarity of word challenges and the scouring through an ancient dictionary to justify word selections.

***

Church the next morning was a revelation to Adrian. The people were friendly, the music was uplifting with two items from the music group using tight harmonies and the message was delivered by an eloquent and humorous preacher. His message was remarkable. It focussed on an overview of the letter to the Romans. The paster identified the key points: We should be aware of God and ignore Him at our own risk. We should be aware of our fallibility, our shortcomings, our sin and our obvious need. We should be aware of God's provision which meets every criterion for claiming a relationship with God. We should be aware that believing, trusting and accepting is all that is necessary to be considered forgiven, made right and seen as part of God's Family. And, we should be aware that once we have the rights of children of God, we have the responsibility to love, serve and share the good news.

They had sat near Liam and, when the service was over, he introduced Adrian to a number of people, all keen to know something of his police work. The congregation milled about for a while talking. Ally rescued him with a cup of coffee. They sat next to Liam who was in his wheelchair. Liam asked how his search for truth and purpose was going.

"Not too good. I read that my heart is beyond cure. Although, in my grandfather's Bible it said it was desperately wicked, which didn't make me feel much better."

"I think it's saying, we can do nothing about our own hearts." He opened his Bible to Jeremiah. "And, apart from the intervention of God, this is true. But you see what it says before that?"

Adrian squeezed his eyes trying to remember. "Something about a curse."

"Yes...a curse and a blessing. You know it's your choice. You can trust in yourself and man and expose your soul to the deprivation of spiritual nourishment and hope; or you can trust in God who refreshes and invigorates your life to be filled with hope, and be purposeful and fruitful."

"A choice?"

"Yes...a choice...but that's where the warning about the heart comes in. Don't trust it. It will deceive you. After that it says it is the 'Lord who searches the heart and examines the mind'." He was reading from the text. "So, you have to choose."

Adrian shifted uncomfortably. "You make it sound so easy but there's a lot about me that you could call wicked."

"That's the first step...recognising your need. Remember what Graeme said?" He referred to the pastor's sermon. "And see what the writer says next: 'Heal me and I will be healed. Save me and I will be saved'. A call to God makes all the difference."

Before they parted, Liam took them to the church library. He handed Adrian a range of reading material. He explained that some books were logical defences of faith while others were small booklets of verses or devotions.

***

On the way to Adrian's parent's place he reflected on how meeting people with this common belief was confronting. It made him want to deconstruct their faith by demonstrating where their thinking was in error. The problem was he couldn't—not with cold logic at least. Christians couldn't prove the existence of God but he couldn't disprove his existence. So a strategy he often found useful in his investigations—proof by contradiction—wasn't applicable. He explained to Ally, "So this is probably the deceit Liam was talking about. How I don't want to face the possibility that the story of Jesus and the claims of the Bible are true. The thing is, as the pastor said, it's the greatest possible news and people still don't want to hear it."

"So...are you convinced?"

"Let's say...the whole idea of feeling guilty, wanting to do the right thing...the example of Jesus—living and serving others, well...it makes sense that it's true. I just don't know if I can do it."

Ally smiled, "When I said that to Liam, he said, 'God does it.' It's like starting again as a baby and then growing."

"Being born again, hey? You know how scary that sounds...how religiously extreme?"

"I know what you mean, but if a sports star has a return to fame, we use similar expressions...his career is reborn...a second chance...a new start. I think it's the same becoming a Christian."

"I take your point."

Little else was said on the subject and they soon arrived at his parent's house. A number of cars were on the street and in the driveway.

"Oh oh."

"What?" asked Ally.

"I think you're going to meet the whole family. My brothers are here...with their families. Beware of the Spanish Inquisition."

"What?"

"Nothing, I'm being silly."

"Oh." There was a concerned look on Ally's face as he opened the door for her.

"It'll be all right. Only...be prepared for endless teasing and wisecracking. They always try and outdo each other."

Inside, Adrian's mother explained how they hadn't had a family get together for a long time and she thought it was an opportune time. They all sat at the table and introductions were made. Adam and Loni and their two children sat at one end of the table, Andrew and Greta opposite them and Adrian's parents at the other end. An old fashioned Sunday roast satisfied everyone's appetite and conversation flowed.

Some ribbing about going to church meant that, in the opinion of his brothers, Adrian was hooked. It led to Maggie asking how the service went and then she added that she'd like to go sometime. Ally happily organised it for the next Sunday as the brothers engaged in small talk about work and Adrian's transfer to the Homicide Squad.

At the point when the meal was cleaned up and afternoon teas had been enjoyed, the males wandered off to the sunroom extension where table tennis occupied them. Loni and Greta got to know Ally as they quizzed her about how the couple met and her accounting job. Ally showed interest in the two small children, Corrinne and Denis, and drew pictures on paper with them.

When the couples and children had left, Adrian and Ally had a light evening meal with the Burtons. Ally offered to help Mrs Burton tidy up as the television news came on. A niggling curiosity eventually caused Ally to ask, "Maggie...any reason why the boys all start their names with 'a'?"

Her look showed that it was something she wasn't entirely pleased about. Her tongue clicked in resignation. "Aubrey, Adam, Andrew and Adrian; it was Aubrey's idea. He said they can be our 'A-team'. He always had high hopes for the boys."

"Do they know that's why their names all start with 'a'?"

"Yes...there was a big flare up over it when Adam and Andrew were in university, so it's not mentioned any more. I guess they resented their father pushing them all the time." She paused before she added, "He means well...It's just that...well...it was pressure the boys didn't need...especially Adrian."

Ally asked Adrian about the names on the way home and the flare up his mother had referred to. He said his brothers spoke up mainly on his behalf. They had become aware that Adrian fretted and was anxious about 'being a success'. His insecurities caused nightmares and a reluctance to complete his schooling. When the pressure was taken off, Adrian was free to pursue his own course. Ally shared that his mother had noted that when he had chosen the police force, he became more studious than the others by mastering the set curriculum and reading widely about investigative techniques and criminal case studies. Apparently, his father was only now becoming accustomed to the notion that it was a real career.

Chapter 10

The morning was a turmoil of rumour and disruption and of disgruntled apprehension. Michaels had called for a squad conference and historically that meant a dressing down. Odds were that Burton may have overstepped his role, having solved a colleague's case for him, though some bets were on Burns getting reprimanded for acting on Burton's instructions.

The clamour in the large operations room settled as Michaels came in. Gordon cried out, "Listen up everyone," when the crowd was almost noiseless. It seemed an attempt to identify with the upper echelons of command.

"Thank you George," Michaels uttered quietly to the side. "Gentlemen...and ladies," he added in deference to two female detectives. "I know it's an inconvenience to have two shifts in at once and tear you away from your work, but sometimes we need to reset the compass. Sometimes we need to remember who we are, what we do and how we do it."

Immediately Adrian appreciated the degree of preparation the Detective Inspector had put into his pep talk. There was also a strong inkling that Adrian himself was one of the causes for the talk.

"We...this homicide squad—part of this police force—we, are servants of the state. We are here to keep people safe, to uphold the law and to be an arm of the justice system. So, we don't do this for personal gain...though your remuneration is reasonably generous..." There was a wave of grumbling and indistinct murmuring. He held up his hand entertained by the reaction. "So...so, it's clear that comment is under some dispute." A muted ripple of laughter followed.

As eyes were drawn to him again, he continued. "And...we, as a team, are problem solvers, are investigators...are detectives. We put our energies into bringing the guilty to trial. Specifically, this squad, deals with the horrendous crime of one human taking the life of another. We gather evidence, we interview witnesses and we reconstruct the event that took away a life. People...we do this as a team. That's how. We cooperate. We advise and seek advice. We treat each other and the public with respect. And, most importantly, we use our collective intelligence and skills to produce results...to solve crimes."

He gazed steadily over the crowd. "This is a reminder." He ran his tongue over his lips. "It has been brought to my attention that lately this has not been the case. There has been friction, discord and grandstanding. It has to end. We are a team. From now on we share ideas, we take advice and we work together. If you don't...don't expect to stay here long."

The final words transmitted the gravity of the situation. It was obvious from the frown on his face that Michaels was unhappy. He paused again briefly before continuing with a little more cheer in his voice. "I have to say that despite this negative assessment of you people there is a bright side to operations. We have solved some puzzling crimes and brought a number of felons into custody for trial. So it's not all bad news. Let's keep up the work rate and improve the dynamics of the way we work." He gave a small tilt of the head toward Gordon and then made an announcement. "I want Lancaster and Burton in my office with their teams. The rest of you can go. And don't forget, we're a team."

As they shuffled out mumbling, there was an undercurrent of joviality at their escape; sidelong glances at their wayward co-workers also indicated that most were relieved they weren't part of the teams being hauled before the detective inspector. Adrian and Charlie trailed Lancaster's team into the inspector's office. All waited wordlessly, expectantly, for their commander to come in with Gordon.

When they did, the door was shut. Michaels' opening salvo was directed at Adrian. "Burton, do you understand seniority and chain of command?"

"Yes sir."

"Are you aware that you are under report for insubordination?"

"Yes sir."

"What do you have to say for yourself?"

"I was doing my job to the best of my ability sir."

"Does that include being impertinent to Senior Sergeant Gordon?"

"I told the truth sir."

"In what way?"

"The senior sergeant was mistaken. He said I withheld evidence from Senior Constable Lancaster. It wasn't true."

Michaels looked across at Gordon. "George?"

"Sir, Norm told me Burton was sitting on his evidence and diverted his squad member for his own ends."

"Is that true Lancaster?"

"Yes sir."

"How is that not true Burton?"

"Sir...when details emerged that Manny Lavis might have known Clements and we had a firearm matching the calibre that was used in the Clements' case, we handed the gun straight to one of Lancaster's team. He had it tested by forensics and it proved to be the murder weapon. All this time Lancaster and Schultz were off grid pursuing a suspect...we don't know where French was." The man in question blanched. His reckless absence was about to catch up with him.

Adrian's attention had reverted to the inspector after making eye contact with each of the others in turn. "With Burns unable to contact his team leader, I advised that questioning of the acquaintances of Mrs Clements would assist in discovering motive for her murder. This was relevant in that it was our victim that was the likely perpetrator. I think these crimes are linked sir.

Then the next day we approached Detective Senior Constable Lancaster for our teams to work together. He didn't think it was a good idea sir."

Michaels looked at Lancaster. There was mild disapproval in his study of the man. "Is this true Detective Senior Constable?"

"I don't know sir...of course Burton would say so."

His accusation stirred the ire of the inspector. He turned to Burns. "Is this true Burns?"

"Yes sir."

"Did you try and contact Detective Lancaster?"

"Several times sir."

He addressed Lancaster. "So...Norm...what I hear is that you accused Burton without knowing the facts. He helped you solve your case and yet there is no attribution of Burton's role in your report. And then you refused to work with him!"

His head turned towards Gordon and he glowered. Michaels then became abrupt. "Norm...I want you to take a few days off. Think about your role as a team member. Schultz, French and Burns, I want you three on Burton's team to clear up this Lavis case. You people can go." Lancaster left, resentful, shoulders rounded, teeth gritted and sneering. French seemed almost buoyant. He was sure he had dodged a bullet. The others were quietly triumphant. Justice had prevailed.

In the office, for anyone who glanced over—and many did, Michaels was lecturing Gordon on the finer points of conflict resolution and getting the full story. The favoured status of Lancaster was questioned and the importance of monitoring cases with a greater degree of hands-on input was reiterated.

Gordon escaped when Reynolds arrived for a chat with Michaels. That went on for half an hour and also drew furtive glances. When Reynolds left for his own office as head of the State Crimes Squad, Michaels called in French and flayed him mercilessly. He also got a three days' enforced leave to consider his misdemeanours. Then Gordon, in acceding to Michaels' recommendations, collected Burton's team around his desk for an update on the state of play.

Adrian was very diplomatic. He realised his attitude to his immediate superior would set an example to the others. He showed due respect and outlined the accumulation of evidence that implicated Lavis in Mrs Clements' murder. He then put forward a series of questions that put the onus on Gordon to make a decision. It went like this:

·If Mento is Zane Clements then what business did he have with Manny?

·Given that Manny killed Benita Clements, did her husband order the hit?

·If Clements ordered the hit where would he get twenty thousand dollars?

·If he chose not to pay how would he deal with Manny?

·How do we prove it?

"This is a daunting list of 'ifs' Burton. Do you have any concrete facts to go on?"

The word 'facts' triggered a recent memory of their hostile encounter but Adrian thwarted any desire to score points. "Can you see a flaw in the reasoning sir?"

"The flaw is not in the reasoning...it's in the lack of evidence Burton."

"That's why I need your permission to set up a sting operation."

Gordon groaned. "Oh...I was afraid of something like this. Give you an inch..." His eyes looked disbelievingly at Adrian. "You want to set up a police officer? I think they call that entrapment."

"It's only entrapment if he clearly had no intention to break the law...We think he's already conspired to murder and murdered his co-conspirator."

"I'm not making this decision...You can go to Michaels, but I bet Internal Affairs won't be too crazy about it."

"If they're both on board is it okay with you sir?" Adrian was conciliatory to the last. They all knew if the inspector and an IA detective were in on it, it would be safe to go ahead.

When Michaels got all the details from Adrian and Gordon he dismissed the detective sergeant to the supervision of the remaining teams. When the door closed, he admitted, "You know Burton, in some ways you're a breath of fresh air and in others...well, I have to be honest...you scare me to death."

"What do you mean sir?"

"I mean...that I'm forced to make decisions that have serious consequences...they could backfire. What if he's innocent?"

"Well, then he won't take the bait. He won't know what we're talking about."

He sat down and leaned back. "What do you need?"

"I need Detective Senior Constable Clay. He's new enough not to have run into Clements and we need some techs to run the recording equipment."

Michaels sighed, looked at his watch and then made a decision. "Call your friend in IA...get him on board. Another signatory to a charge sheet will help getting that warrant. Then get your team up to the executive lunchroom. We'll work out the details over lunch."

***

Michaels had a local caterer lay on sandwiches and finger food, and the five Homicide members sat with Clay, Conrad Smith and two surveillance and digital monitoring specialists. They listened to Adrian as he spelled out his plan. A script for Clay would be produced so that he could make the call with a measure of bravado. A range of possible alternative replies were canvassed to make provision for Clements testing Clay's authenticity.

"You're gonna have to be ready to ad lib," advised Schultz. "I mean there's no way we can predict exactly what he's gonna say."

"You're right...but we'll do a few dry runs to make sure we're responsive enough," agreed Adrian.

"Ya mean that I'm responsive enough," modified Clay.

"We're a team Dougie. We take the responsibility together." He battled to keep a straight face and avoided making eye contact with the inspector.

"When do you plan on making the call?" It was Michaels bringing everyone to the reality of a schedule.

"Tomorrow. Charlie and I want to pick Gino Stinnetti's brain, see if Clements knew anything about Bettini. I'm wondering if we could send a female officer to the Seymour station and quiz Clements on what he knows about the squad, Bettini, Sweeny and the progress in his wife's murder case."

Michaels whistled with a level of consternation twisting his face. "You don't ask much do you Burton?" His jaw did some gymnastics before he answered. "Well...I think Willy Banks could do the job. She's new to Homicide from Missing Persons. Got a good head on her shoulders...need to go through the personnel lists though, make sure she doesn't run into anyone who might know her."

"So...I don' get it...why a female officer?" enquired Clay uncertainly.

Michaels looked at Burton and then at Clay. "From Burn's report...that's his vulnerability. He sees himself as a smooth operator, a ladies' man."

Adrian surveyed the group and then addressed the inspector. "Maybe Wednesday might be better...just to make sure everything's in place."

"No...we'll get it done as soon as we can, even if it's tomorrow night."

***

That afternoon Adrian and Charlie visited Gino again. Vinnie didn't invite them in this time. Gino came to the front door. Adrian deduced that there were probably visitors who would find his presence unwelcome.

"This is becoming harassment detective," groused Gino. "Whad do ya want?"

"We won't keep you long. We're hoping to catch Manny's murderer and need a few more details about Manny. For instance,...who knew about his black book?"

"I dunno what you're talkin' about." He slammed the door.

Plan B was Ronnie Bonetti. Ronnie was far more cooperative. He responded about the notebook.

"I knew about it... I always told him not to write it down and if he had to...well...make sure no one found it...or keep it innocent like."

"Do you know where he hid it?"

"No one knew."

"What about his stash. Did you know where he kept that?"

He had a furrowed brow. "I heard the coppers found it." He looked confounded momentarily then remarked. "No one knew. If anybody knows where your stash is then you're in trouble...if ya know what I mean."

"What about his gun?"

"He always had two guns...one to do the hits and one to throw off the police. I remember him telling me once when he'd had one too many...He told me the next day not to breathe a word of it...so I'm thinkin' nobody else knew."

"Two guns? Were they the same?"

"Yup...He called them the Glock twins."

Adrian's further attempts at gleaning information were in vain. Ronnie tried to elicit information out of them. He was obviously a conduit for news—the archetypal barman.

"All I can say is..." began Ronnie as they were about to leave, "...is that we all feel a bit safer now that Bettini is off the streets."

Adrian stood stock-still and examined the man. "How do you know that?"

He stuck a tongue out smugly. "I have my sources."

"Is this widely known?"

"I doubt it. I only found out yesterday."

"Have you told anyone else?"

"No."

Adrian leaned in. "Well don't tell anyone. People's lives might be in danger." His words were harsh. "Do you understand?"

"Sure..." He mimed zipping his mouth. "My lips are sealed."

On the way back to the station Adrian was hassled by the knowledge that their scheme relied on unreliable people keeping quiet.

Charlie tried to console him. "We have to give it a go Ade...His reaction will tell us if he knows about Bettini."

"Yeah." His mind worked madly to come up with an alternative. Nothing materialised.

***

By the end of Monday a great deal had been achieved. The plan was coming together.

The Inspector summed up, "So we're good. Let's call it a day and we'll start bright and early and see if this thing sticks." There was unanimous approval and most made a move to end the day, Unsurprisingly Burns and Clay stayed back and chatted with Willy Banks. Before leaving, Adrian put a call through to Ally. They talked at length about the possibility of him having dinner at her place following the service on Sunday. Her mother had asked about him several times already and she'd only arrived back that morning. He relented after initially saying he might be required by work with them both agreeing that his attendance was conditional and would be confirmed by Saturday.

He then zeroed in on Saturday and gained a commitment for a dinner movie date on the proviso that he was available. They spoke a little about their spiritual journeys. He related how the impoverished state of his heart had seemed an obstacle and now he realised that everyone who came to Jesus came on the basis that their hearts needed changing. It was an essential step. Only the sick needed a physician. 'What about the evidence,' she had asked. He was still battling through that. All the alternate theories were less likely than the one finally accepted by the author detective, but he was now trying to discover how reliable the texts were to begin with— whether it was only a cleverly developed narrative that had been popularised by its unique message.

"You know...there is no end to alternative explanations. In the end you're going to have to choose what you believe."

"Yeah...I know. But I'd rather know the arguments for and against than to always wonder if there was an angle I'd missed."

At the end of the call she was prompted by her mother to invite him over. "Sorry...I'd love to...but I have a big day tomorrow. I need to get to the gym and burn a few calories and sharpen up; I've been sitting around almost all day."

"Okay." She sounded deflated. "So...tomorrow's a big deal?"

"I'm putting myself on the line a bit...getting a lot of staff on board for an operation. If it doesn't come off...well, let's say it may lead to a lot of extra work."

"What are you going to do?"

"Can't really say. Operations policy requires secrecy. Let's just hope we succeed."

"I'll pray."

The words, the thought, the notion that prayer could make a difference invaded his consciousness.

"Yeah...that'd be good," he said huskily. In his mind he was thinking that if he gave any credence to the contention that Jesus is God and that He was raised from the dead...then he should pray too.

A vigorous workout and a steaming shower gave him the comfortable lethargy that follows aching exertion. Drinking a hot chocolate and relaxing in an armchair, Adrian reviewed where he was at with his examination of the Christian story. He opened up a small booklet of readings from the Bible and read the daily verse. He read: Even to your old age and grey hairs I am he, I am he who will sustain you. I have made you and I will carry you; I will sustain you and I will rescue you.

He compared it to the passage which stated: Heal me and I will be healed, save me and I will be saved.

He recalled Liam had added; 'a call to God makes all the difference.'

One of Liam's books averred the truth of scripture on the basis of continuous historical confirmation, consistency in texts over the centuries, its erudite description of the human condition and the testimony of countless converts. During the night, he contrasted how favourably the biblical text compared with other faith documents and how consistent its message was.

Before he went to sleep that night, he confessed the 'wickedness' of his heart and asked for an understanding of the healing he needed. Though he didn't understand it, Adrian accepted that the crucifixion and resurrection of Jesus somehow provided that healing. He prayed for faith.

There was a certain exuberance to his rising the next morning. It wasn't elation but an awareness that the assessment of his life was no longer about his merit, his efforts to please others. It was about what God had done. When flicking through some notes at the back of his grandfather's Bible he read; 'what position does a Christian have?' He was surprised by the list. Somehow, by trusting—believing—he had changed sides. He was now a follower, a disciple, a child and a son. One paragraph enumerated the gifts resulting from God's love: He was in God's plan, brought near to God, a child of God, acceptable and made right for God, joined with Christ, owned by God, blessed by the Holy Spirit, cared for and a citizen of heaven.

Maybe the significance of the day and the anticipation he felt was also heightened by the approaching culmination of their investigation. He prayed for wisdom.

***

Chapter 11

Hectic activity kept all occupied throughout Tuesday morning. The pressure to get all the final details in place was immense. It was mid-afternoon when Willy Banks arrived back. They were again sitting in the executive lunch room. Detective Senior Constable Banks was giving her report of her morning at the rural police station. The team could appreciate Michaels' choice. Willy—short for Wilhelmina—was a person who would attract Clements' attention.

"So...Clements was full of himself. Talked about his time on the Drug Squad...said he decided for a quieter life so he transferred to a country station. He doesn't know much about what goes on at the major crime squad these days."

Clay, who had missed the early planning, interrupted. "So how did ya explain why a homicide detective was there?"

Banks gave a sweet smile and reviewed her role. "I went as an intern. It gave me an excuse to ask questions and look around. I don't think the sergeant there was aware that Clements had been disciplined and demoted for his bungling of the bust on Lavis. He also didn't know what specifically Clements did when he went on patrol."

Clay smiled back. "Sorry, I missed da briefing."

"Detective Banks, what did the other officers think of Clements?" Smith was angling for an objective overview having already heard numerous allusions from Burton regarding his doubtful character."

"Big notes himself, not a team player...a bit private...seems to do his job." She tilted her head as if trying to gauge what he was after. "One of the constables said that he was wealthy...said he'd won a big lottery prize years ago."

"Mm...we haven't turned anything like that up yet," he muttered.

They all realised then that Smith had set his bloodhounds onto a money trail.

Banks became a bit more specific with regards to the case. "Clements told me his wife had been murdered and they hadn't caught the killer yet." She gave a wry look. "I think he was letting me know he was available."

"That's handy," remarked Schultz.

"I asked about it and he said he was interstate, pig hunting, so he didn't know a lot about it. That suggested to me he didn't care too much or he wanted to switch the subject. Either way he wasn't mourning."

What she didn't say, but what Adrian already knew, having chatted to Willy earlier, was that Clements lost interest and went on patrol when she spoke of her boyfriend. His absence made it more convenient for her to sound the others out regarding their fellow officer.

Michaels thanked her and invited her to stay on while he tried to determine their readiness.

Adrian reported the additional information they had gathered the previous day. He spoke of completing the script and having several rehearsals. He then had the technical crew explain their set up for the recording. It involved duplicate listening devices on both the ear and mouth pieces of the phone to ensure nothing was missed.

Michaels looked around. "What have we forgotten?" A few random suggestions including, setting up recording devices in Manny's place in preparation for the actual sting and readying a forensic team for the search were rejected by Adrian as a bit premature. "Let's wait to see what happens. He might choose a different meeting place...I know I would...and we still have to get the warrant. That's what this is mainly about. Physical evidence will override any claim about entrapment."

"Burton makes some good points," affirmed Michaels. "At the moment he's an innocent citizen under suspicion. We're not going to breach his rights." When no one could add to the discussion the inspector declared, "All right, let's do it

They sat ringed around the phone that was amplified through a multiple headphones. Michaels bobbed his head. Schultz dialled the number. Clay tensed, bracing himself for the much anticipated audio encounter. Several dial tones sounded.

"Zane Clements here." The words were shocking even though no other answer had been expected. Clay visibly expanded his chest with an intake of air. His voice was affected, rough almost belligerent, almost too much. Adrian cringed.

"Hey Mento...I thought I should let ya know. I have Manny's notebook. I got ya number from a mate. Seems ya owed Manny twenty thou...and he was a bit jittery about ya payin' up; and he was right since ya plugged him...so...I guess, I better collect for him." It was almost too much in one burst. There was a delay. Clay almost said 'are you there?' when an answer came.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

Clay hesitated, looked at Adrian who gave a small nod and then his eyes went back to the script.

"Whad if I said that Manny had a camera in his room? That he had another gun that he used to kill ya missus and that...when ya pay me you don't give me bundles of newspaper?"

There was silence. The detectives and other police sat motionless. This was Burton's extrapolation of the evidence. Bluntly, it was a hunch. And because it was a gamble, they were all staring at the phone urging for a bite. Would he take the bait?

"What do you want?" Burns gave a small fist pump.

"Twenty thousand...same as Manny 'cept real money this time. It could go up if ya don't get a move on."

"I'll need the photos...How will I know you didn't make copies?"

"Ya gonna have to trust me."

Another gap. They pictured him furiously mulling over the demand.

"So...who is this?"

"Let's just say, someone who's pickin' up Manny's business."

"I'm not doing any deals until I know who I'm dealing with."

"Name's Silvio...Silvio Bettini."

"All right Silvio...where do you want to meet?"

"At Manny's place...tomorrow at eleven."

"Not likely...never return to the scene of the crime." Clements voiced his hesitation, "Err...there's a park in Seymour...Kings Park...why not meet there at eleven?"

"Uh, uh, no way. I'm not goin' all that way...that's your backyard...uh, uh."

Clay was still reading from one version of a prepared script. The idea was to have him away from his district while they searched his premises.

Clay proffered plan B. "There's a reservoir about halfway...near Whittlesea...forget what it's called."

"Yan Yean,"

"Yeah...that one. Wanna' meet there at eleven...It's about halfway...and bring the twenty thousand."

"How will I know you?"

"First car park. I'll find you."

"You'll have the photos?"

"If you've got the money...or it goes to the coppers." Clay was ad-libbing and getting a touch over confident.

"Eleven tomorrow..." He hung up.

There was some whooping and cries of 'yes' and 'we've got him' before Adrian reminded them they still had a warrant to get and a rendezvous to organise.

"Are we going to bother with the meeting?" Michaels queried.

"If we can't find anything, we need a fall back," answered Adrian.

"You think he'll bring the blackmail money?"

"I think...he has only one choice...eliminate Bettini and get the photos. So...we need to tail him in the morning and stop him before he has a chance to do any damage."

"We can't ask anyone to be a target...no way," protested Michaels.

"We'll put a manikin in a car and watch what he does. Maybe a message to leave the money. He won't leave without us arresting him. I mean it will be all circumstantial, but it might be enough."

Adrian went with Charlie to Louis Forrester's court. Over his evening recess the two were admitted to chambers. The judge listened to the tape and reckoned it was sufficient for a search warrant. He wanted to know how they knew about the newspaper money since there was no film evidence. Adrian merely smiled and replied "Sometimes you just have go on your instincts."

"You guessed?"

"Well, honestly...it was the only explanation I could come up with for the forensic report about newspaper fibres."

"Couldn't he have been reading a newspaper?"

"If he had been, there would be no reason to remove it from the scene."

Forrester's mouth formed a definable 'ahh'. "I'm beginning to see how your mind works its intricate meandering pathways."

"As another detective has said; we look for the most reasonable construction of events," he quoted the cold case detective's rationale for faith.

Having written his signature, Forrester handed over the official document.

"Do you know what you're looking for?" asked the judge.

Adrian smiled. "I have a wish list. The murder weapon would be good. Any evidence of his presence at the murder scene would also be helpful."

***

Assignments and movement of the officers involved were controlled and strategic. The purposeful meetings and late afternoon activity was mainly due to a whiteboard task allocation briefing that Adrian gave with an expanded group. He described the operation. Three cars were assigned the job of tracking Clements from his home to the reservoir. Three cars were to organise the decoy car and observation points at the reservoir and liaise with the trailing cars.

Adrian spelled it out. "Okay, it's essential that you don't get spotted. Alternate along the way...call it through regularly so everyone knows where he is. We have a dedicated frequency just in case Clements is listening in."

"Can't we use a chopper, and cover all bases?" asked Schultz, who had you been included in the expanded group. Adrian looked across at Michaels.

"We'll see what we can do. We won't get it airborne until he's on the way though and it will be high level, early departure as he approaches the rendezvous." All were acknowledging the astuteness of the detective inspector's words. The key was not to give your presence away.

Adrian mentioned that during that time, he and Charlie would be carrying out their search of the Clements property. They would have a forensic team with them to ensure procedural sterility of the treatment of evidence. Smith, who was also there said he would like to be in on the search with one of his officers.

The schedule for the next day would include authorisation for additional firearms and acquiring vests and communication devices from supplies. Adrian reminded the team of the need for an early start and then left it to Michaels to revisit the protocols for safety and confidentiality. Most spent an hour after their shift ensuring all was ready. The normal tidying up deskwork was neglected.

***

Journeying home, Adrian's mind went to Ally. He gave her a call to make a date and was coerced into a meet-the-parents' dinner that night. He had been keen to share his life changing commitment with her and wanted to find out what her understanding of the change that believing made to the way God viewed people. He was thinking of the notes he had found and the radical difference his grandfather had, from his study of scripture, attributed to believers. It would have to wait till another time. Social convention deemed he make a good impression if he wanted his relationship with Ally to develop further.

At the door, all showered, freshened and changed into casual clothing, Adrian tried to remember Ally's father's name. The door opened and Ally was similarly clad in jeans but she had a sloppy off the shoulder sweater. A light fragrance wafted over him. He stood staring at her crinkled blonde hairdo.

"What? Don't you like it?" Ally brushed the locks from her cheek with a concerned expression.

"It...it looks lovely...it's striking," he stammered.

She relaxed with pleasure at his compliment. "Come in. You haven't met my mum yet."

She led him into the kitchen dining room. The large open space was the product of a recent renovation. "This is my mum Catherine...but she prefers Cath...Mum, this is Detective Senior Constable Adrian Burton, rescuer of dads in distress." She sniggered at her own introduction.

Ally's mum wiped her hands on a dishcloth and offered her hand. He shook it.

"Pleased to meet you Adrian. We've heard so much about you."

A range of hackneyed replies assaulted his thinking before he opted for the innocuous, "Not bad, I hope."

"Not at all... more like knight in shining armour." She scrunched her face teasingly at her daughter who was pinching her nose with feigned embarrassment. "It's nice to meet you Mrs Whittle."

"Call me Cath. Mrs Whittle is Edwin's mother."

Ally's father, who had been hovering after putting the cutlery on the table, came up and patted him on the back. "Good to see you again Adrian." Adrian shook his right hand and asked about his injured left hand.

"Still hurts a bit but getting better all the time. What about yourself?"

Adrian lifted his fringe slightly to show the healing scar. "I get the stitches out next week. It's almost better."

Ally took his hand and led him to a chair in the dining room. Their fingers intertwined. A moment's enchantment lingered as eyes met and affection was communicated by a light bump of heads.

"Come on you two. Sit down or your food will get cold," chided Cath good-humouredly. It surprised Adrian and Ally that the transient mutual attraction had extended an interval long enough for the food laden plates to be distributed.

A short grace created an initial sketch for Adrian of Whittle family life. Conversation, as such things go, was surprisingly uninhibited and open. Edwin and Cath spoke of a life that had been turned upside down by the death of their son in a road accident. Life had been intolerable for the first few years after his death. They had left their church and harboured resentment toward God. It wasn't until they had met Liam, next door, and recognised the cheerfulness of one who was aligned with a life of faith even though he had been diagnosed with a terminal condition, that they reassessed their situation.

"What did he tell you?" Adrian was curious to know. Edwin glanced at his wife and then answered.

"He asked us whether we loved our daughter. And then suggested that our continued grief probably made her feel of little worth. We had to ask Ally to forgive us and reminded her that she was the world to us."

The couple linked fingers as if to synchronise their thoughts. This time Cath spoke.

"It didn't take us too long to realise we'd been wasting our lives fretting over something we couldn't change."

The remainder of the evening revolved around learning about each other. Ally and Adrian shared stories of schooling, family and work history. Adrian confirmed that he would join Ally at church on the Sunday while also arranging dates for Thursday, Friday and Saturday. He laughed when they joked that he'd forgotten about Wednesday, replying that he had a big day coming up and was sure he'd need a good night's sleep following.

***

Clements left home early Wednesday morning after calling in sick to the regional police station. It was clear he was going to survey the meeting place well before the designated eleven am appointment. Radio calls were flying from one unmarked car to the other reporting his progress. Adrian and Charlie waited till he was ten minutes down the road before turning into his place. Despite Charlie's impatience the younger detective insisted that Clements may suddenly turn back on a whim or because he had forgotten something—ten minutes would give them sufficient time to vacate the premises.

A small convoy of vehicles trailed them to the front of the building. It was a large rambling ranch house which was surrounded by a covered veranda. Standing outside, he muttered to himself, "A slab...mm...and looks like a fair bit of roof space."

"What?" said Charlie.

"Nothing." Adrian gazed at the large boat on a trailer covered by a tarpaulin and a carport shelter next to a double garage that had a motorcycle, a ride on mower and a quad bike.

"He's got a few toys," remarked Charlie.

"Must have had a rich aunt," answered Adrian facetiously.

Access was hastened by Charlie's dubious talent of unlocking locked doors. Entry could have been forced but Adrian preferred a softly, softly approach.

As instructed, the forensic crew remained in the cars waiting for Adrian to complete an initial search. The size of the building caused him to sigh. It was going to be a painstaking task. His first exploratory tour was a cursory evaluation of the home. Key questions guided his data gathering—what was the principal living area? Where did he sleep? Did he have a private office? How secure were the rooms?

Were there outdoor private places?

Movement was slow. Adrian stood in the entryway and stared down the broad hall. He opened cupboard doors toward the back. There were coats and wet weather gear hanging, boots and shoes on the floor. He imagined they'd hang on hooks outside the door during winter. The lounge had entertainment modules and bookshelves.

It was half an hour later that he met up with the team on the veranda. "Curtis, you can take your team inside. Look for any phone details that may link Clements with criminal elements. There may be some panel or niche where he's hidden cash...he's too smart to run it through bank accounts but this place suggests he's supplemented his income several times over."

The forensic leader looked questioningly at him. "Didn't you find anything Burton?" There was a hint of disappointment. The man's reputation had raised hopes of some sleuthing wizardry.

"I don't think there will be much inside. Maybe you'll find something in the study if it's anywhere. Palmer and I will check out the garage."

Detectives Smith and Walters from Internal Affairs tagged along.

Curtis was gathering the forensic scientists for a quick review when Adrian spun around. "Oh...could I have one of your photographers. If we find anything illegal it most likely will be in there."

"Ginny, will you go with Detective Burton?"

A woman dressed in regulation forensic investigator's overalls and carrying a camera moved quickly. She trailed Adrian and Charlie to the garage.

Having previously unlocked the door when he was inside, Adrian pulled up the rolling barrier. Once again he stood and stared as if vibrations emanated from the structure. Starting on the left outside wall he examined the brickwork; he opened drawers and he tested panels on the ceiling. All the way around the double garage he picked and poked. He checked the spare refrigerator at the back, the tool box on the floor and the steps that led into the adjoining family room. Ginny snapped some photographs on the chance that a record of the search was required. The two IA men contributed unhelpful speculations about where to look and a running commentary of 'ace detective' Adrian Burton's search. Adrian tried to ignore the wisecracks.

"What do you think Detective Palmer?" Adrian concluded officiously, "Is there anywhere we've missed in here?"

"I don't think so."

"So...where to next?"

"The backroom?" He stood and pointed to the door connecting a sizeable room behind the garage.

"Ahh...every man's dream hey? A workshop."

"The plot thickens Wayne," commented Conrad as the other three moved into a more confined space. Smith and Walters stood at the door to watch, keeping out of the way.

This room looked well-used and although passably neat there was still some clutter. Several lengths of timber lay on a workbench and drums of fuel and containers of pesticides lined the floor near the door to the backyard. There was a shadow tool board on the side above the bench, cupboards and garden equipment on the opposite wall and a filing cabinet. Patiently, methodically, Adrian opened each drawer, studied the brickwork, tapped the ceiling and stomped on the floor. On the back wall, adjacent to the exit door there was a gun rack. It was locked. It had two rifles and a shotgun and an empty gap. He flicked through his notes. A hunting rifle was missing. According to their research Clements also had a licence for a magnum handgun. Adrian suspected that was inside. As with every deduction he made—at least for thinking criminals—it was based on the rationale of 'what would I do?' He figured personal protection required access to a weapon quickly and easily, especially if Clements dealt with criminal elements. He would need insurance.

The filing cabinet sat under one end of the bench. It was locked. Charlie raised his eyebrows when Adrian prompted him to address the issue. He manipulated small lock picks left, up, across and down. His face advertised success. Using one finger, he nonchalantly slid the top drawer out. True to its purpose, it was filled with files. There were plans, warranty documents, assembly instructions for furniture and a range of other housekeeping paraphernalia. A squint with one eye betrayed his disappointment. He opened the bottom drawer. That had a small frame on one side with keys on it. There were more files, a locked security box and a wicked looking knife under a manila folder.

"Yes!" cried Charlie with a delight of discovery. His eagerness hampered his work on the lock of the security box. He took a deep breath, slowed down and twiddled his implements experimentally. Finally it clicked.

Sadly, for Charlie, the treasure consisted of copies of insurance policies and important documents. Clearly a backup in case of loss, in the house proper, due to fire or some other event.

The older detective snorted, "We'll never find anything at this rate."

Adrian got down on his knees and looked carefully at how the filing cabinet had been built into the bench—presumably to prevent it being taken.

"Gone to a lot of trouble," he murmured. Then rising and picking the top drawer up, he manoeuvred it up out of its roller channels and withdrew it. There in a metal tray that had been welded to the back, and had penetrated into a recess cut into the wall, were several bundles of cash.

"Eureka," hailed Charlie, "his loot."

The extraction of the second drawer revealed the same fabrication with even more stacks of money.

Photos were taken. Gloved hands picked up the money and estimates were made. "He's gotta be crooked," summed up Charlie. "No copper could earn this much in three lifetimes." He shook his head. "You've done it again Mr Burton."

But Adrian wasn't finished. His attention was now drawn to the tool board. The perforated pegboard was set on a frame. The frame had substantial borders and its surface seemed to fascinate him. It was like he was trying to determine the necessity for such a sturdy structure. He moved his fingers, gradually, under the base. Adrian's bottom lip jutted out. Something was amiss.

"What's wrong?" Charlie was quite captivated with his partner's methodology.

"I expected a catch." He scratched his head, squeezed his nose as if that would somehow stimulate brain cells, and then he squatted to view the base of the frame.

"Ahh!" His eyes lit up. "Cunning character."

"What...what?" Charlie was befuddled.

Adrian fished through a tray for a large nail. Squatting again, locating a specific point, he inserted it into a hole and pushed. It made a clicking noise. The whole board swung away from the wall a few centimetres. Adrian pulled it all the way around on its concealed hinges. On the back were a multitude of plastic packets of white powders, fine crystals and brown fibres. "The drug store," he quipped chirpily.

"He's been a bad boy," uttered Smith's junior flippantly.

Ginny started snapping the new find.

"So, we have him for possession...probably enough to get him on trafficking as well...but not what we're after," Charlie stated ruefully.

"I'll call Reynolds...see if he can send a team," volunteered Conrad. "They can confirm the illegal substances." He left the garage to make the call. Adrian still pottered about feeling around and under the drawers of the filing cabinet, rapping door posts and examining the door itself. He heaved a sigh. "It must be somewhere else. Let's see what the others have found."

Before he left, something on the bench caught his eye. A block of wood. He picked it up with his gloved hand. It had markings around one face, scratches from a sharp edged implement. Adrian put it down and got his wallet out. Extracting a fifty dollar note he matched it to the size of the block.

"His template for his newspaper money," he said sotto voce. Ginny took a close up as Charlie pointed to a sharp box cutter in a clip on the board.

"Take a shot of that too and we'll box it." There was pleasure in his expression. He spoke to the forensic investigator. "Ginny, will you make sure that all this is boxed. I'll send someone in."

"That's my job," she replied acerbically. Charlie made a goofy 'whoops' face at Adrian.

Investigators were still working their way systematically through the rooms of the sprawling house. The forensic coordinator reported that they found the magnum with shells in the bedroom, searchers were still going through paperwork looking for phone lists and much was being boxed to study more intensely, especially lists of assets and paid bills to contractors. They were scouring the roof space but no sign of illegal, unregistered weapons.

Adrian walked outside the back door and closed his eyes as if meditating. "What are you thinking Ade?" probed Charlie.

He opened his eyes and looked at his partner. "He has his service revolver and a registered gun...both of which he could use legally to protect himself. He can hide the murder weapon well and not worry if it's not easily accessible. That's one he only gets when he wants to do something against the law. So...he may have to go to a bit of trouble to retrieve it."

From there he strode directly to the gas hot water heater. Slipping the access panel off he felt around inside. Nothing.

A searcher at one end of the covered in porch had been burrowing into the baked tile pizza oven. He gave a cry of glee, "Yes!" Removing his arm he clutched a pair of tongs that were clamped around the remains of a Glock pistol. The metallic barrel and firing mechanism were all that remained.

"Manny's other gun," observed Adrian. "The one Clements must have thought was used to shoot his wife."

"Why would he bring it here and incriminate himself?" asked Conrad, who had been watching proceedings.

"He figured he wasn't a suspect so no search would be necessary...and he didn't want Manny implicated...because where there's a contract murderer, there's someone who hires him."

Charlie extrapolated, "That's why he kept hinting that a local addict could have shot her for money."

News from inside the house was that a coat in the entry closet had a trace of blood on it. Charlie looked at him questioningly to get his verdict. Adrian tilted his head. "Maybe. If it was a dark coat, he might not have noticed a trace. I imagine he was careful in bringing the bag and gun back with him...but it's possible it's Manny's blood."

Adrian walked back to the house. Facing away from the wall, he scanned the backyard. The paved courtyard with pizza oven and barbeque were on the right, a bench with a wooden table were on the left, and a bird feeder and ornate bird bath feature in the centre of the lawn. Small marks near the base of the concrete bird bath suddenly drew his attention. On closer inspection he surmised that a weed whacker had scratched some of the pavers as weeds growing between them had been slashed. Moving over to the barbeque which was surrounded by large concrete blocks he scrutinised the shelter and the paving. He rolled back the bulky appliance and closely examined the concrete masonry. Abruptly, he selected one block and lifted it with a heave. Underneath was a hollowed out concrete brick. It had a box with a plastic bag inside. Adrian removed a box of nine millimetre shells but no gun.

"He's taken it with him!" he exclaimed. He slapped his forehead. "What were we thinking? He's got the murder weapon with him."

A quick conference between the homicide and IA detectives resulted in frantic calls to the tailing cars and those waiting at the reservoir. The news from the chasers was shattering. Contact with Clements' four wheel drive vehicle had been lost.

"Where?" asked Adrian, bewildered that professional crime fighters could be given the slip. Michaels, who was on the scene at the rendezvous, intervened on behalf of the hapless pursuers.

"He outwitted us Burton. Maybe he caught sight of the tail or maybe he was just cautious, but he drove into an underground car park at a shopping mall and that's the last time he was seen. We're going over the parking area with a fine tooth comb but so far no news."

"You're keeping the stakeout hidden still?"

"Yes...of course...I've called in special ops in case things get out of hand."

Adrian had a despairing sensation that they were being played. What had happened?

They called in a couple of squad cars to monitor Clements' home. He would be arrested at the first opportunity. While the place was still abuzz with forensic investigators and the newly arrived drug squad team, Adrian and Charlie and Smith and his partner fled the scene and rushed to the mall where Clements did his disappearing trick. An exhaustive search revealed nothing. Somehow he had driven in, changed levels and driven out without being detected.

The cars then raced to the reservoir. No sighting of Clements had been logged from the road or from the air. From their vantage point they saw that the car sat alone in the car park with a manikin sitting inside.

"I don't think he'll come," reckoned Adrian.

"We should wait a bit longer," advised Michaels, "He might be rallying confederates."

"I think he's too smart for that. The fewer people he involves, the more control he has. I think Clements works solo."

"All the same...we'll wait a bit longer." The boss had spoken.

Adrian chafed at what he viewed as a waste of time. Somehow Clements had been alerted to the trap, or maybe he was ultra-cautious and decided to cut his losses. He ticked off the alternatives mentally. The resolution to the debacle was more prosaic, he decided. He kept it to himself until, after an hour of grinding his teeth, Michaels called it off.

"I think Burton's right," he announced, "He's not coming." Leaning on the hood of his vehicle he fixed a stare on Adrian. "What went wrong do you think?"

"Something alerted him after he left. My guess is he spotted his tail."

"What if he decided to run for it straight away? Someone says 'I know what you did', and he decides to scram."

"He left his money at home."

"Oh." Nothing more needed to be said.

Chapter 12

A review of the morning's events didn't shed any more light on the operation's failure. Police stations around the state had been notified to be on the lookout for Clements or his four wheel drive. Adrian and Charlie wrote up case notes while monitoring the findings of the forensic scientists. News dribbled in. Cocaine, Chrystal Meth and Marijuana were the substances in Clements' workroom. Later, it was determined that the money had traces of drugs and totalled about seven hundred and fifty thousand dollars. When the call came in confirming that the trace of blood belonged to Manny Lavis, Michaels was happy for the charge to be upgraded to murder.

Over coffees, Adrian and Charlie were summing up the day. Both felt flat after the heightened expectations of the lead up days to the sting. What now, was the paramount matter at hand? Where would Clements go? Where was he most comfortable? Did he have a bolthole? These were the unresolved questions that were plaguing them. A group of them started digging to compile a list of known associates. He would need some disreputable allies to shelter him. At least that was the theory. Adrian wasn't so sure.

Disappointed that things didn't go quite to plan, Adrian sought solace by giving Ally a call. She didn't take long to notice his depressed mood. Did he want to come around and unburden his woes? It was the gist of her invitation, though Ally didn't say it in so many words. His counter offer was a movie or maybe dinner somewhere.

"You don't want to be too sociable hey?"

"I guess not. I thought my life was in the ascension, but today put a dampener on that."

"How about I treat you to dinner at a cosy restaurant with a folk quartet."

"Cosy sounds good to me," he sighed, "But I'm happy to pick up the tab."

"Don't be so proud. How about I see you at seven?"

"Seven's good."

***

If he hadn't been so tired, if he hadn't been so distracted running possible scenarios through his mind, Adrian may have seen the dark vehicle in the distance pull out as he left his place. He might have noticed the same set of headlights follow his car through the suburbs to Ally's home, if he hadn't been rehearsing things to say. He was even less vigilant with Ally in the car. Her gentle scent, blonde hair splayed about her shoulders and unpretentious denim skirt and western shirt contiguous with the restaurant theme, made her all the more attractive to him. He only had eyes for her when they weren't on the road. He didn't notice that it was the same car that trailed them to the semi-rural, themed restaurant. The unobserved car stopped a distance away in the shadows, away from street lights. The occupant studied the couple as they entered the well-lit entrance. Five minutes later he was gone.

Inside, Adrian and Ally were ushered to a table for two. A small lantern lit the table. Large beams of timber supported exposed rafters and added to the rustic atmosphere. The floor show hadn't started yet and recorded country and western music warbled in the background. His gaze took in her clear complexion. As he regarded the delicate lines of her face framed by her hair she caught his intent look. "What?"

"Um...I enjoy looking at you."

"You're not so bad yourself," she answered, her eyes dancing with humour. "But looks can deceive."

"I think I see someone within that is even more beautiful."

Ally's head bowed. In the dimness her blush was unseen but her demeanour spoke of her shyness at his praise.

It wasn't till halfway through the meal, as the folk quartet were near the end of their first bracket, when Adrian shared his news.

"Ally, before I met you...well, I guess I was fairly self-absorbed. Let's just say life was about me. Even when I let your dad get treatment before me it was to impress you...let you know how good I was. But ever since...reading the Bible and chasing up information about Christianity...I found out I'm pretty rotten—desperately wicked was what one verse said...Now...I'm on the other side...somehow, it's a relief that I don't have to impress anyone. 'No condemnation'; that's what I read. I just want to say...thank you for opening my eyes."

"So...you're a believer now?" Ally fixed her sight on him, two hands propping up her chin; a hint of a humorous smirk played on her lips.

"Yes...I'm only starting, but it makes more sense than not believing." He pulled a concerned grimace.

"What's wrong?" She misread his sour look.

"Er...I realise that I'm going to have to tell Candace I forgive her and ask her to forgive me for the way I treated her."

"Will you get back together?" There was a slight stress in the way she said it.

"No...no," Adrian gave that minute head judder that indicated a definitive no. "Our relationship was mutual admiration, not love. I could never talk with her the way I...I do...with you." He squinted at the ham-fisted way he was trying to say something of import. She realised they had already had this conversation. She reached over and clasped his hand. The action proclaimed affection but words were absent.

"Liam said reconciliation was what faith in Jesus is all about," stated Ally as if to affirm his conscience to make reparations.

"Is that in the Bible?"

"Look it up. I'm sure...if Liam said it is...that you'll find something about it."

"You really like him."

"Yes...I like him. But more than that, I admire him immensely. The prognosis for his condition is that he'll be lucky to make it to twenty-five. He knows he's dying. Yet he just wants to share his faith. I mean, he's the reason my parents re-evaluated their anger at God and turned back to faith."

***

Two people walked out closer than they had entered, a couple, entangled arms and heads close in conversation. Their images magnified greatly in the telescopic sights of the gun trained on them. Close attention was paid to faces lit up by the lights festooning the trees leading to the parking area.

"Too clever for your own good, Mr Burton," The words were hissed between clenched teeth. Vengeful connotations were implied.

The night ended too soon. A lingering farewell at the doorstep was accompanied by an embrace and kiss that spoke of a relationship growing beyond strong fondness. Words were whispered, plans were made for Thursday, Friday and Saturday and, reluctantly, the two parted company. Adrian had high spirits. He was floating; maybe the car was floating. Apart from the failed sting earlier in the day, everything was right with the world. Work seemed insignificant. It faded into the background as his mind filled with the richness of his affection for Ally and of the liberating knowledge that God made provision for his pride and selfishness. The word 'sin' didn't really describe it for him. Perhaps if he studied it, it would be more meaningful. But 'wickedness', well that resonated.

At home he found a topic heading at the back of the Bible that belonged to his grandfather. The word 'Reconciliation' was there. He found a passage in second Corinthians chapter five. His grandfather had written notes. He wrote, in his flowery language, of Christ who died so that people could live, and then that life should be in His service. The idea continued; if Christians are reconciled with God then they should do likewise—serve in 'the ministry of reconciliation', and use 'the word of reconciliation'. Adrian wondered at the perfection of what Jesus had accomplished—new creation. It was beyond his understanding. For now he would believe it and hope it would become clearer.

***

Thursday brought him thudding back to reality. No Clements, no specific evidence and no clue as to what to do next. A state wide alert for the corrupt policeman had come up empty. His known haunts were being visited by plainclothes investigators and no positive news had yet been received. Charlie kept ribbing him that despite the lack of progress, something was putting a smile on Adrian's face. The younger detective refused to acknowledge what he was alluding to, though he already had a call during the day from Ally. She had phoned to confirm the time and appropriate dress for their movie date. When he rang back to suggest a choice of movies it produced another flurry of teasing taunts.

The afternoon had those involved in the case meeting with Reynolds. Surprisingly, he congratulated them on their fine investigation. That Clements had not taken the bait seemed of little consequence to him. To the inspector, it was now merely a matter of time before this particular fugitive was caught.

"All the resources at our disposal are directed to intercepting Clements. The bad news...and this will be the first you hear of this...is that we know why Clements pulled the plug. We picked up a call into headquarters. It was a query from Clements about his wife's murder. The unknown informant said, and I quote, 'Burton has pinned it on Manny Lavis.' Clements went on to ask how Silvio Bettini would know about Manny Lavis. I'm afraid he was told that Bettini was in custody. That gave it away. He knew it was a set up."

Michaels was outraged. "Who's leaking confidential information?"

"I wish I knew. The initial call was patched through to the drug squad, to Sweeny's desk. Well Guthrie took the call and said Sweeny no longer worked there. He asked who was calling but Clements hung up." At that point everyone was trying to ascertain how Reynolds knew it was Clements.

Reynolds, not one to avoid a touch of drama, surveyed the crew well aware that they were waiting for the rest of the story.

"About a half hour later, someone used that phone to call Clements. And that's when the conversation took place." He almost snarled when he added. "At first we guessed that it was one of the fifteen detectives from the squad present at the first call. They hived off from there and, we thought...obviously...one came back. Later we learned that Guthrie had contacted the tech department to see if they could trace the call. From there word of mouth that Clements was after information got around to prevent a leak. It proved to be counter-productive advice...he has a confederate at headquarters here."

There was a ripple of voices as individuals expressed their consternation about the breach of operational secrecy. "All right..." Reynolds drew them to order. "We need to get back to finding Clements. Detective Sergeant Smith is interviewing drug squad staff with the aim of shutting down any leaks. The squad will be on reduced duties while Internal Affairs investigates. As I said, though, it could be anyone."

Reynolds had an executive meeting with Michaels and Gordon and dismissed the others telling them to have an early night. Adrian was grateful. He could go for a run to alleviate his growing concern about his sedentary habits. He would still have time for a leisurely shower and then collect Ally for their evening date.

His feet pounded the pavement. Sweat soaked his tee-shirt. The offshore gusts heralded an approaching cold change. But now the mild blustery early November afternoon was ideal for a strenuous workout. Adrian's mind replayed the momentous changes he'd experienced over the past two months. New job, new girlfriend and, most amazingly, new life. He considered how his perspective was changing. Before he'd started his run, he had read the inside cover of his inherited Bible. His grandfather had written; "Never forget, 'God resisteth the proud but giveth grace to the humble.' Let this mind be in you..." The irony of it made him susurrate to himself, "that's me," as he panted. Maybe his grandfather had battled with pride too. "Help me to be humble Lord," he prayed between gulps of air.

***

A serene drive, a contented anticipation and the glow of a thoroughly exercised body was shattered for Adrian when Edwin, Ally's father, greeted him at the door. "She hasn't come home yet...something's wrong. She usually calls if she's going to be late."

"Have you rung her work?" pressed Adrian hearing the anguish in his voice.

"Yes...they said she left at the normal time...No one's seen her."

"What's the address of her work? I'll drive the way there. Maybe she has car trouble."

Edwin gave him the address of the accountancy firm. Adrian promised he'd come back soon.

Driving steadily along the main route to the suburban centre where her office was, Adrian scanned the sides of the road ahead. Why wouldn't she contact home if it was car trouble. There were pay phones in the commercial district where she worked. As he neared the cluster of office buildings in the suburban hub, he saw a red sedan, same make as Ally's, parked along a shopping strip on the opposite side of the road. Doing a U-turn at the first opportunity, Adrian took a space a few cars up. A quick glance convinced him it was her car. No one was around.

Crossing to a small supermarket nearby, he entered. There were two youths at the cash registers. The older female, probably nineteen or twenty, had finished with her customer so Adrian approached her.

"Excuse me...I was wondering if you've seen an attractive blonde girl...early twenties...in the last few hours?"

She gave him a baffled look. "I'm sorry...that might be several people over that time. Why?"

"Well...her car is in the car park and...and this shop is close by."

The pimply faced teenage boy in the next aisle cut in on the conversation. "I think I saw her. She bought treats and snacks...I asked her if she was on a TV binge and she said she was going to the movies tonight...thought she'd get some nibbles."

Almost instantly, Adrian decided he was talking about Ally. "When was that?"

"Er...about three hours ago, I guess."

"Did you see where she went?"

"Sorry...I had a queue of customers...didn't really notice anything."

"You noticed she was pretty," kidded the girl. He gaped with chagrin. His whole face radiating red.

Adrian went to a pay phone at the front of the store. He called missing persons. To begin with they were cool to his opinion that Ally had come to harm or been abducted. They reasoned: she was an adult, it was only three hours, she may have gone for a walk or perhaps her car had broken down.

His voice became more insistent. "This is Detective Adrian Burton of the Homicide Squad. My girlfriend's car has been abandoned at a shopping centre near her work. She has a movie date that she is late for. She purchased things specifically for the movies according to a checkout worker, but she never got back to her car."

"All right detective...Send us your details. We'll send a car as soon as possible."

Adrian was not optimistic or encouraged by the reply. A nagging fear irritated his mind. Could a criminal react so reprehensively in retribution? Clements had heard his name. What could he achieve by such an act? His face contorted as he reproved himself. He was jumping to conclusions. There was no indication that there was any connection to him or his work.

Adrian rang the Whittles. He told them her car was still at the shopping centre and he had called police. Hesitantly, he gave Gannon, who was on night duty, a call, dreading that he might have news of a new victim. Nothing. In a moment of reflection he prayed for Ally's safety. After pacing up and down for about ten minutes, he rang Charlie.

"Hello Charlie?"

"Yeah...who is it?"

"Charlie, it's Adrian...I'm sorry to call you this late but...but I don't know what else to do."

"What's wrong?"

"Ally's gone missing...her car's been abandoned and...well...no calls...no trace. I called Missing Persons but they're dragging their feet."

"Where are ya...I'll come straight away."

"You sure?"

"Of course I'm sure. I'm your partner...I won't be long."

When he arrived, he beckoned Adrian to get in. Charlie had an unmarked police car and put in a query to find out who had been assigned to the call. He was informed that Creighton and Wills were on their way.

"Tell them to give us a buzz when they get here," directed Charlie. "We'll cruise the area...see what we can find."

He knew a few of the squad and said they usually did a good job. "It's a tough gig. Sometimes you're hounded by worried parents and little Sally is playing truant at a friend's, other times there's no sign. The person just disappears."

He looked across at Adrian who was scanning the neighbourhood. "Sorry Ade. You don't wanna hear that do you?"

Charlie drove slowly up to the suite of offices where Ally worked. Everything was locked. Dawdling past the quiet buildings in the twilight, Adrian felt a knot of hopelessness tying up his stomach. The car did a slow circuit of the block and headed back to the shopping centre. There was still no missing persons' unit.

"They should be here by now."

Charlie replied, "My bet is they hadn't left when they said they did."

When the two officers eventually arrived, they got a rundown from the two homicide detectives and then repeated the questioning of the supermarket staff. Next, they went to the few remaining stores that were still open and asked a raft of what-did-you-see type of questions.

It was late when they arrived at the Whittle home where Adrian and Charlie had been for more than an hour. Ally's parents were distraught. Nothing could be said to ease their dread. The unknown was more excruciating because it fuelled the horrors of imagination. Photos were collected and assurances were made but it was all to no avail. Young women disappearing from city streets seldom ended well.

When everyone had departed, Adrian also left, determined to do something. There was nothing else but to drive and scan the streets. Most of the time he was driving randomly trying to come to grips with the horrific reality that Ally was missing. It was after one a.m. when he crawled into bed. He was tormented by his inability to do anything. He spent a wretched night feeling desolate, knowing that Ally was in dreadful trouble. He prayed. It was a pleading, begging petition. He sought safety and deliverance for Ally. He asked for comfort for her parents and he desperately asked for wisdom to unravel this sinister act. There was little sleep. Worries churned his stomach. Restlessly, he twisted and turned, all the while trying to make sense of a nonsensical event.

***

By Friday morning he was haggard and bleary eyed. A shower didn't revive him much. Calls to the station, and the Whittles added to the bleakness of his mood. There was no news. Where was she? What was happening? What had caused this calamity? He drove to work with no idea how he could operate with any semblance of competence or clarity of thought.

Staff had been boosted and days off cancelled as word had spread that Clements was still on the loose and a colleague was enduring a crisis. Michaels called Adrian into his office. He assured the young detective that a state wide alert had been put out for Clements and there was little more he could do. Given the personal crisis he was enduring with his girlfriend going missing, it might be better if he went home or consoled her parents. Adrian objected vociferously. "Sir, I could lend a hand to missing persons. They're often undermanned. I'd like to be involved."

"No Burton...they have their structures...their procedures, you're going to stay out of the way. Don't interfere and things will go more smoothly."

"But Insp..."

"Don't argue Burton. Imagine how you'd feel if someone from another branch came along and tried to tell you how to do your job. You can stay here if you want but I suggest you go home."

Adrian wandered around huffing and puffing. He fretted about Ally and pestered the missing persons' squad for information. After his third call Michaels came out of his office in response to a complaint about Adrian's intrusive enquiries.

Before he had a chance to deal with Burton he was interrupted. "Quiet everyone!" yelled Schultz. "You need to listen to this." He put the phone onto the PA speaker.

"Would you repeat that please?" he stated solemnly.

A voice crackled harshly over the office PA. "I have Alison Whittle. She will die if you don't do exactly as you're told. You are to place a million dollars in hundred dollar notes in a box in the old mail exchange, on Sunday, at noon. No bugs or markings...I'll know and the girl will pay. I want the building empty so I can send someone to check it. Leave it there untouched until six and then I want you to put it in the yellow cab that stops outside the mail exchange. If you let that cab go and nobody follows it then I'll release the girl. If you try and follow it, she's dead...I'm not going to repeat this because I know you record everything."

"How do we..." The connection was broken. An eerie buzz filled the operations centre. Schultz turned it off and looked up.

Adrian's face was scrunched up with the emotional torment of dread mingled with fear and anger. He couldn't think, couldn't react. Gordon looked to the inspector hesitantly. Michaels took control of the stunned silence. "George get us a copy of that audio will you?" The senior sergeant vocalised some sort of assent, not entirely happy to be given a menial task as his boss pointed out specific squad members as if they didn't know who they were.

"Monroe, see if they can do a trace on that call. Schultz, get up everything you know about the old mail exchange. See what exits, vantage points and plan layouts are available. Burns, contact the cab company. Find out whether they have a pickup job for Sunday and liaise with them to record any calls that might come from Clements. Neilson do a general callout for Clements' vehicle again. It must be somewhere." His decisiveness was impressive.

Michaels mustered the remainder of the available crew to his office. Brand had taken Clay and Banks with him on a double homicide so that meant that Adrian and Charlie were accompanied by Gannon, Gulliver and Lambert, who had been rotated out of evening shift and Lancaster and French who were back; clearly subdued by the discipline imposed on them. There was a quiet undercurrent of opinions expressed while the inspector wrote notes on a pad. Gordon entered last and closed the door.

When all were inside, he began. "So, obviously Clements is desperate. He wouldn't have decided on a ransom if there was another way out."

Some heads bobbed up and down but Adrian looked dubious.

"Any progress on who made that call?" inserted Adrian seemingly out of the blue. To Michaels' credit he didn't dismiss the errant question out of hand. "No...why do you ask?"

"Clements wouldn't have heard of me before then. Suddenly, he targets Ally, whose only connection is through me. It feels a bit like retaliation for uncovering his crimes."

"Point taken." The inspector paused briefly as he considered the whole issue. "Okay...given we recovered his ill-gotten gains...he decides to get money by kidnapping someone and, to his depraved way of thinking, it was fitting to get back at you by taking your girl."

More heads nodded. Adrian wondered how Ally would react to the label of 'your girl'. The commentary continued. "It's clear Clements is crafty. He's come up with a scheme that places his hostage at risk if we don't comply. We haven't been able to attain proof of life and have no contact number." When he said that a number of subtle glances went Adrian's way. It was a callous truth. Adrian bit his lower lip.

"George, have you got the recording?"

"Cleary is bringing it up...oh here he is." Gordon opened the door as a young communications tech came in and deposited a tape player on the desk. Michaels gestured to him and he replayed the recording. Hearing it again reinforced the complexity of the plan. They were all encouraged to study every angle. What loopholes did it have? How could they trail Clements undetected?

The inspector summed it up as he saw it. "We have two days to find out as much as we can about Clements, the drop off point and ways to track the cab without being found out." He gave a steely stare. No one said what they were all thinking. No exchange point was mentioned. No timetable for Allison Whittle's return. Was she already dead? Clements' call had created enough doubt to pressure them to adhere to his instructions.

Michaels concluded the briefing. "Are there any questions?"

A clearing of the throat indicated someone was about to speak. Attention turned to Adrian.

"Sir...this doesn't seem right. How often have murderers then turned to abduction? How likely is it that a policeman like Clements would take the high-risk route of collecting a ransom?"

"What do you suggest?" It was a mark of the inspector's recognition of Adrian's achievements that he gave him an opportunity to air his theories.

For once the young detective was at a loss justifying his suspicions. "I...I don't know...There's got to be something more to this."

"Maybe you're right. Maybe in a couple of hours we'll have a clearer picture." He scanned his audience to communicate his indulgence of their beleaguered colleague. Then he dismissed them from his office.

Because Adrian hadn't been assigned a specific role, he lobbed at various desks to gather an overview of progress. By lunch time a board was erected that compiled critical information, the various facts discovered so far and relevant questions needing answers. Adrian viewed the current progress:

The old mail exchange was now the head office of a shoe company, empty on the weekends. A key was being located to provide access. Clements, as yet, had made no contact with the taxi cab company. At this stage of the operation the commissioner was not giving approval for the acquisition of the ransom money. No sightings of Clements' vehicle had been made. The phone call had been made from a public phone outside a station, where there was no way of identifying the caller and no witnesses could be found.

Adrian sat at his desk and stewed. Charlie looked across at his partner. He was troubled too "You know, if we don't find out who the informant is, it's likely our every move is being shadowed."

"Can you get a list of officers who worked with Clements? Then at least we can try and quarantine them from the investigation."

"It's worth a try. I'll get onto Golding...and I can look through those old charge sheets again and list names."

Adrian was scribbling alternative courses that Clements could take. His partner looked over and quizzed him. Adrian said he considered the exercise a thought experiment. "When I get stuck in an investigation, I often resort to the 'what-would-I-do' synthesis."

"What do you mean?" asked Charlie warily reacting to Adrian's conjecturing.

"Put yourself in Clements' shoes. What would you do if you knew that you had been identified as a murderer and that police were trying to set a trap for you?"

"You know the majority of crimes don't come under the category of the thinking individual, don't you?" scoffed Charlie. "Granted, Clements has proven to be different."

"So, what would you do?"

"Well, I'd run...if I had money. But we took all his...so...I guess we forced him to do something drastic." There was a moment of motionless tableau as Charlie looked at the other. "What would you do?"

"Run...hide...change my identity. I certainly wouldn't invite every policeman in Victoria to scrutinise the one place where I was going to get my ransom."

"That's the clever thing. He won't be there. He transfers the money into a cab and then makes sure it isn't tracked before collecting it."

"Whoa!" The outburst came from Schultz's desk. The sign of excitement from a generally stoic individual drew colleagues toward him as he wrote furiously on a notepad. A phone was jammed between his chin and his shoulder as he scribed with one hand and steadied the pad with the other.

"Thanks very much. That is most helpful Eric. If I have trouble locating the entrance, I'll call you back...Okay...Bye."

He looked up. His eyes were darting about with excitement. "There's a tunnel underneath the old mail exchange. It goes to the Southern Cross Station."

"You're kidding," exclaimed Lancaster.

"No, Eric Dumont, from the Historical Society tells me the tunnel goes under Spencer Street to a platform at the station."

"He could grab it, take the money to the station via the tunnel and take a train out. We'd never know he was there," observed Charlie.

Gordon, who'd been listening with concentration scoring his features, opted to demonstrate some leadership. "We put undercover surveillance on ticketing in the station to see if we can intercept him there. Once we have him, he can't harm the girl and we put pressure on him to confess everything."

"What happens if he already has a ticket...or even travels without one?" It was Charlie making a telling point.

Gordon countered, "Yes...good pick up, Palmer. We may need to watch the platform and see which train he gets on...Maybe even have enough officers to travel on a number of trains leaving the station. Keep him in our sights...that's the key."

Adrian's eyes had glazed. It was so unreal to him. He couldn't assimilate the suggestion that Clements would lug a box of money—or even transfer it to a suitcase— and casually board a train. Perhaps it was so audacious that it could come off. But Adrian was filled with doubts. The tingling irritation he got that stirred his suspicions was wildly active now. What was the alternative? Clements would need to fund his disappearance somehow. Maybe he still had a stash of money.

Chapter 13

After units and men were dispatched to the railway station, Gordon started setting up a timetable for Sunday. Michaels came back from speaking with Reynolds and the senior sergeant reluctantly relinquished command to his superior. Michaels explicitly commended Gordon for his proactive planning. Because of Adrian's emotional involvement he was overlooked for any direct responsibilities. Lancaster was allocated the task of convening a team for Sunday to remain hidden but track Clements once he emerged into the station. Reynolds had finally got an okay regarding the requisition for the ransom sum. This led to Michaels selecting some juniors to get a list of the serial numbers and taint the money with a mild radioactive spray. The marker would be undetectable without a Geiger counter.

Although it was late in the afternoon, Adrian wanted to go back to Clements home and see if there were any clues to some alternate exit strategy their quarry might have. Charlie was deeply mired in listing associates of Clements, in the force, so Gulliver said he'd happily accompany the young detective. His motives were mixed. He wanted to see firsthand the methods the 'legend' used and he also believed Adrian was suffering incredible emotional stress and needed support.

Gully had barely gathered his keys when Banks, Clay and Brand came sauntering in. There was a touch of melodrama in the way they clustered at the door and Brand, who had seniority, spoke.

"Our boy has done it again," he announced. All heads looked up at the proclamation but it was apparent he had to enlarge on his statement. "It was the same gun...Clements' gun I suppose...that was used to murder the two dealers, the Winton brothers."

"Why would he take out dealers?" Burns looked mystified.

Michaels, who had caught wind of the news, summoned them. "Gather people." A general movement congregated all those present around his office door. "It's clear he's getting desperate. Probably getting rid of accomplices in the drug trade. These people who know where he hides and who his cronies are, probably critically to him, can also implicate him in crimes. What I want to know is...what does it suggest to you?" A significant quiet descended on the group.

"Basically, what you said," voiced French cautiously, after no one had responded.

"Maybe he wanted some help and they knocked him back," proffered Burns.

"He's just plain crazy," concluded Lancaster. "I mean, abduction for ransom, murdering suspected felons; he's lost it. I think we need to take him out first chance we get...before anyone else is hurt."

There was some minimal agreement with Lancaster's opinion.

Adrian could contain himself no longer. "I think he's distracting us from his real plan. He's going to make a break for it. We need to move before he gets away with his hostage." A hint of hysteria had crept into his voice.

"What? With no money?" Gordon sounded sceptical.

"Did the investigators at the crime scene of the murdered drug suspects discover much cash?" Adrian addressed the three who had brought the news.

"Not before we left," answered Banks.

Michaels interjected, "So you think he's got money now, Burton? If he has, he probably needs that to pay off those helping him collect his ransom and escaping."

"Or he could be running for it now." His almost derisive snort indicated his frustration.

"Not very likely...not after setting up such an elaborate scheme." It was a verdict quashing Adrian's growing certainty that the whole ransom was a smokescreen.

Following that adjudication, Michaels spelled out what was going to happen. "We're going to cover every avenue of escape at the station and shoe company. Lancaster's running that show. Senior Sergeant Gordon will coordinate the state wide search. And...I'm letting Burton lead a small team to explore other possible scenarios." It was a masterful stroke. He had removed Adrian from impeding their work with his emotional confusion and at the same time appeared to make a concession to Burton's flair for accurate predictions.

It was almost as if there was a warm feeling of sympathy toward Adrian for his erratic divergence from the most reasonable course of action. When volunteers were called for to team up with Adrian there was an uncomfortable hush. No one wanted to miss the action. Charlie quickly relieved the tension. "Count me in." Then muttered, "Never liked crowds too much anyway." His list of active officers who had known Clements was growing to the stage where it was of little use. There were too many possibilities.

Michaels scanned the group to determine who he could spare the most. "Banks...you can join Burton's team...get a close look at some alternative investigative work." If it hadn't been Adrian, most would have thought it an uncomplimentary description, but with his record it was shaded with ambiguity.

"Yes sir..." Her reply was tinged with disappointment. She felt she was being shifted sideways away from the main game. Stanton Gulliver, who preferred 'Stan' but was called Gully, joined the small group. He had opted to work with Adrian earlier and his distaste for Lancaster prompted his choice.

While the main group got further instructions from Michaels, Adrian took his team to his desk, farthest from the office. "Palmer and Banks, I want you two to go to Clements' place see if there have been any visits, check the locals for his favourite hangouts and see if he's dumped his car anywhere." His use of surnames disclosed his frantic determination to get things done, setting aside his usual niceties. He looked at the fourth member of the group. "Gully, you and I will visit the Winton double murder...see if we can determine any other reasons for Clements being there."

"If you don't mind, Burton," intervened Willy. "I was one of the investigating officers there. It might be better for me to go with you." Adrian crossed his arms, he almost flinched with pain at the extra thought required. Then he tilted his head thoughtfully before responding. "That okay with you Gully?"

"Sure...saves you time from asking a whole lot of background questions Willy should already know."

There was a grin on the pert young detective's face. Being with a younger colleague, who was not altogether unattractive, was preferable to being with Palmer who was definitely ancient in comparison.

Adrian ignored the pleased expression. He was too busy to respond, running hypotheticals in his mind and wondering what Ally was enduring. In the car, Willy tried to lighten his mood. "I've heard the stories about you...makes it hard if people start expecting you to solve every case."

"I've been lucky," he murmured. He hated the idea of making civil conversation when no inroads into Ally's whereabouts were being made.

"Well...let's hope we're lucky this time."

He changed the subject. "Tell me about the Winton brothers."

"Family has always been in trouble. Their dad has a long history of charges. They have managed to stay under the radar for a while but have, from what we discovered, been running a successful drug ring from a pizza place. It was pretty ingenious. They delivered the drugs in pizza boxes...often with a few pizzas to go with it." She sniggered, "You'd have to be careful if you asked for Coke with a pizza."

Adrian flicked a dour glance at Willy as she drove, unwilling to lose his train of thought. "How were they involved with Clements?"

"One of the staff, who was vaguely aware of what was going on, said Clements was a regular customer. Often went out to the back office with Cliff and Russ, ordered a couple of pizzas, and Rizzo, the employee, said sometimes Cliff would put four or five boxes in the car."

"Drugs?"

"That's the belief."

"So, I take it Clements was trafficking or reselling to his own dealers and taking a cut?"

"Again, they were still doing a preliminary investigation, but Beardsley, the officer following up the drug connection, shared with me that the bags of drugs found at the pizza shop were the same as the ones found at Clements' house. They believe that's how Clements could afford the place he had."

"What do you know about the brothers...er...?"

"Cliff and Russ?"

"Yeah...their history?"

"Well, you pretty much know what I know...bad dad, bad environment...bad kids. Oh, and Cliff is married with two kids...was...and Russ had a swish pad southeast of Melbourne."

"You're saying it was a profitable business?"

"Beardsley says their homes are worth millions."

"So...where's the money? I'll have to ask this Beardsley what sort of cash hoard they'd expect to find with an operation like this."

***

The pizza shop was restricted by crime tape and a couple of uniforms patrolling the street. A flash of credentials gave them instant access. Inside, Adrian found an older man with short grey hair and bushy eyebrows talking with two other detectives. One of them greeted Willy and introduced Golding with a smile and she in turn introduced Adrian.

"Detective Burton hey." Golding extended a hand. Adrian shook it trying to quell his impatience. "Heard some good things about you. What are you after?"

"You know we're pursuing the murderer, a rogue cop, and we need to discover what he gained by doing this."

"What do you need to know?" The senior man was all business.

"What amount of money would you expect to find with an operation like this?"

"Typically,...all the proceeds are stashed away in safes or hidey holes...could be up to a million...I'm only guessing because there was nothing here." Golding looked at the third detective. "Byers, tell them what you found."

Byers was the youngest of the three drug squad police but probably in his late thirties. "We found about a hundred grand in a safe at Cliff Winton's home. We went to Russ' place and the safe had been cleaned out. There's a safe in the back office here and it's empty too. I'd say it was opened under duress since Cliff had a gunshot wound to the foot as well as the fatal shot."

Adrian's eye's opened wide. An important detail not passed on. It was almost certain that Clements had a small fortune. He didn't need any more to survive. It didn't make sense that he would risk capture for a bit more when he could make his getaway. Adrian grunted as the realisation sank in.

"What?" Both Banks and Golding said it at the same time.

"Clements is playing us. He's buying himself time while we're running around trying to figure out his ransom demands and scheming, he's probably getting as far away as he can."

Golding, who was more apprised of the hostage situation than the other two drug squad men, wanted to be enlightened.

"What makes you say that?"

"Everything he's done he's done for money. He's got money. I'd bet he's on the run now."

"What about the girl? Why grab her?"

"Insurance...a bargaining chip if things go wrong and...maybe, he's a vindictive, vengeful man who didn't appreciate being caught out."

"You think he's a bit psychotic?" tendered Beardsley.

"He'd have to be...wouldn't he? Or he's just plain malicious."

Golding walked Adrian and Willy around the crime scene on the same tour he'd been given a short time earlier. He explained that Clements' profitable dealings with the brothers allowed him access into the centre of their illegal trade. It would have been easy to catch them unawares and threaten them into parting with their drug money. The site of the shootings was spattered by dried streaks and stains of blood. An open drawer had a label 'gun' in it where a weapon had been removed for testing. Golding said that it was likely one of the brothers was reaching for it when he was shot.

Things were going too slowly; "Can I inspect their homes?" interrupted Adrian as Inspector Golding was about to demonstrate how the drugs were transferred from a cleverly concealed false backed cabinet to the pizza boxes.

"Yes...no reason why not. What do you hope to find?"

"Something...anything that'll make this search a bit easier," he answered nebulously.

Willy drove and Byers sat in the back directing them to Russel Winton's impressive bachelor mansion. The luxurious rooms and lavish furniture boasted of wealth. The drug squad detective stated the obvious when they were confronted by the open safe. "The safe has been dismantled by drilling with a hardened high speed drill."

"How do we know how much was taken?" Willy hadn't forgotten the previous conversation.

"It's an estimate...but it seems reasonable to assume that Russ had at least as much in his safe as what was found in the older brother's."

Adrian walked around slowly examining the room. "He did this last night...took his time...so he already had a lot of money before he called us."

"There was no break in," remarked Byers.

"He took the keys from Russ after he was killed." Then, as if his former statement needed to be qualified, he went on. "He found the safe...Got the equipment...Takes a fair amount of time to penetrate these hardened safes...Notice the light stand moved nearby."

Adrian looked around the other rooms but it was a fleeting search. Nothing struck a chord.

"Has anyone checked the garage?"

"I don't know," returned Byers.

Willy gave an attentive look at Adrian. "What do you hope to find?"

He refrained from making a prediction, though he was rather certain.

"What do you think?"

"A car?" Adrian nodded at the obvious response.

"Whose car?"

"Russel Winton's," Willy stated flatly. This time his head moved in the negative.

Realisation dawned on the female detective. "You think Clements left his car here?"

"Let's find out."

Entering the big double garage from inside the house they saw Clements four wheel drive parked on the far side. Byers also latched on. "If he's taken Winton's car...what was left at the pizza shop?"

"Winton has money to splurge, plenty of space; odds on he has a second car. And my guess is it's a big off-road diesel."

"I'll put a call in," responded Willy and disappeared to the police car.

"You're uncanny, Burton," said Byers with open admiration.

"Lucky," murmured Adrian tersely, not wanting to highlight the reasonable, intuitive steps he had made to anticipate what they would find.

He left the building and re-joined Willy at the car. "You were right. He owned a big four wheel drive Land Cruiser, and they've just put out a bulletin for it." She tucked some escaping strands of hair behind her ear and beamed. "Mark down another scoop for the legend."

"Don't say that."

"Why not?"

"Well, for one thing, legends aren't true, and, don't you have to be dead to be a legend?"

"I think, these days, people can be a legend in their own lifetime."

"Then, the main reason I don't like it is that my pullovers won't fit over my head if it gets any bigger. Besides, we're no closer to finding Ally." His irritability gave away his fretting about an emotional connection he had, up till now, been able to suppress.

***

Back at headquarters, Adrian made a call to the Whittles. They had heard from the Missing Person's Squad that Ally's case was now an abduction and had been expanded under the auspices of major crimes parameters. Valiantly, he tried to assure Ally's parents that everything possible was being done to locate their daughter. His misgivings about the direction resources and manpower were being allocated went unspoken. The angst and sobs he heard were heart rending. He ended the call saying something he had never said before. He said Ally would want them to pray.

In a rare moment of social awareness, Adrian also called his mother and explained with succinct words that Ally was in trouble and, whatever happened, he doubted that church would happen. His mother said she would pray. For him, it opened a window on the restricted life she had in a family unsympathetic to religious belief.

Time was passing and they had little to show for their efforts. Adrian convened his small team and hassled them to be precise and stick to relevant details. Charlie and Gully noted that the guns had been removed overnight before the cleanout crew had arrived in the morning; so Clements had been home. It looked like he'd taken camping gear, food and also a trailer was missing. Adrian updated them on the change of vehicle and the high probability of the fugitive's newly acquired funds.

A glance at his watch brought about an abrupt realisation, "It's getting late. You guys go off home," he instructed.

"What are you going to do?" Charlie sensed his partner's foreboding.

"There's plenty I have to do."

Charlie waited for the other two to leave before he cross examined Adrian. "Are you going to tell me what's so important?"

Through almost clenched teeth Adrian growled. "Clements has been busy all night. He wouldn't have dragged Ally around with him. He must have another safe house."

"What are we going to do?"

"You go home...I can't ask you to do this."

harlie grunted. "I stick with my partner. I'll call my wife and tell her I have an all-nighter."

"You're crazy...You have a wife to go home to...You've done more than enough."

"You know as well as I do that you're not supposed to work alone...and even with a partner you get hurt...so live with it. I'm sticking around."

"I still say you're crazy...but I'm grateful," relented Adrian.

Charlie made his call from his desk and, in subdued tones, spoke at length about a partner who was in turmoil over the fate of his girlfriend. He needed a comrade, a support to moderate recklessness driven by his desperation. When he finished he ambled back to where Adrian sat writing.

"How are we going to do this?"

"Let's go through all his relatives...associates and colleagues...find out what he does in his spare time, who he visits and places he knows well."

"Not a small task."

"No...I'll call the Seymour station...pick their brains. You go through his records find out his parents, his siblings and maybe recent relationships."

"Let's get to it then."

***

One phone call followed another as Adrian rang the night crew at the regional police station where Clements worked. He spoke to a number of officers who all avowed that 'Clemmo' kept to himself and, if not sociable, at least he appeared to be reasonably competent at his job.

Adrian struggled to rein in his desire for action when he was referred from one person to another. A talk with his closet acquaintance, Caruthers, who was at home, revealed most about the guarded policeman. He informed Adrian of the hunting trips into the outback and of fishing trips into the high country. Clements was the quintessential outdoorsman. He had the equipment and a broad knowledge of the country. The lengthy list of regions he was familiar with only made any search more problematic.

Charlie was, similarly, making phone calls to establish a picture of Clements' family links and likely hideouts. He had several open files helping him locate possible contacts. Charlie was getting the impression that Clements had burned a lot of bridges with family members. He was several minutes into being harangued by an estranged sister when she said something that pricked his ears. "Zane has taken over Mum's place since she passed away. Told us to stay away...made all sorts of threats.

We decided...that's my sister and I, that it wasn't worth the trouble contesting possession...he goes psycho. How he ever got to be a policeman I'll never know."

Charlie got the address and abruptly ended the call. He showed Adrian and then they both geared themselves up for an encounter. Hurtling to the outer suburban home, Adrian called in a local squad car to provide some backup. The instructions he gave were for a quiet arrival and presence. Stealth was required to avoid arousing suspicion and they had to be prepared for a possible armed suspect. It was getting late and the idea of confronting a killer in the dark raised the tension.

The weatherboard house was set back from the street behind large leafy trees. The darkness was deeper because of the shade cast by the trees inhibiting the light from the street lamps. The front door was locked. The place appeared deserted. Neilson and Brand, who were doing a stint of nightshift, arrived as Adrian and Charlie were about to organise the local police. They were to watch the front while the two homicide detectives went to the back. Instead, Neilson and Brand took that role, relegating the uniforms to patrolling the street.

Around the back, Adrian was considering forcing some older style double wooden doors when Charlie informed him that the back door was open.

"He's not here is he?" ventured Adrian.

"I doubt it...no car, no lights...unless he goes to sleep early," whispered Charlie.

"Let's check the place anyway. I'll let the others in through the front...we'll do a quick search and then call forensics in."

A squeal betrayed the back door's disuse. The place had a stale, musty smell. Adrian flicked the light on and was confronted by a kitchen recently used. A couple of dirty dishes sat in the sink, pizza cartons were poking out of the tidy and some discarded plastic shopping bags were knotted and sitting on the bench.

"Might get some prints from that," Charlie indicated, pointing to a ceramic mug. Adrian ignored him. He went to the front and admitted Neilson and Brand. More lights were turned on and Adrian began examining the lounge on his way back to the kitchen and dining area. He asked that the other two look around the bedrooms. Leaving the lounge his attention was drawn to a wooden dining chair with a backrest having several gaps between wooden slats. The chair was placed against the wall, away from the table.

He took a deep breath as if he was in pain. "Ally was here. I'd say she was handcuffed with her arms pulled through the chair." Adrian was running his finger along scrape marks on the back of the slats. He spoke hoarsely, "That would have been quite painful...her arms pulled back like that."

Charlie stared at the burrs in the wood. "How do you know it's Ally?" His voice was gentle, inquisitive, accepting, almost as if he was seeking the answer to a crossword puzzle that he'd given up on.

"Come back here," directed Adrian as he manoeuvred him on a greater angle with the light coming off the wall. A clear AW could be distinguished as a shiny scratch against the painted surface.

Both studied the wall. "What about those other marks?" Charlie waved his hand at, what appeared to be random linear scuffs in the plaster. Adrian moved to a more acute angle, trying to make out the pattern in the shimmer of reflected light.

"She's telling us where he's heading," asserted Adrian. "Look here." He traced one line that went from vertical, clockwise in an arc beyond ninety degrees before straightening and descending. "And this one." He followed another that continued up from the apex of the curve, heading off to the right.

Charlie tried to see what his partner saw. "What is it?" As he leaned closer Neilson and Brand came in. They congregated near the table trying to discover what was so interesting about the wall.

"I didn't know until I saw these letters... 'M riv'. I'd say Murray River. That must be the Darling. And this scuff north of the Darling must be where they're heading."

"Hardly a scale map," remarked Charlie.

"No, but...we go through his hunting trips and isolate those places that match the region. It's far better than guessing about the whole outback."

"So, we make a list of the possible destinations and check them out?" Charlie was looking for some affirmation but Adrian kept moving around the house while the other detectives looked closely at the lines visible only from adjacent to the wall. After a couple of minutes of verifying and assessing the marks to conclude that they didn't have a better interpretation, they noticed Adrian was missing.

"Where are you Burton?" called Brand. "Palmer is right. We should get a move on and find this bolt hole Clements has." He walked into the bedroom. Adrian was squatting. He was holding up a black, strappy woman's shoe. There was a tear on his cheek. The find had materialised in stark reality something that had been merely a semantic concept. He raised his eyes to the other detective. "They're Ally's shoes. I remember them." His blurred vision became an unseeing trance as he imagined Ally in her office attire now dishevelled by harsh treatment and restrictive manacles.

Charlie, who had come alongside Brand, moved and knelt beside Adrian, placing an arm around his shoulders. "Come on mate...you need to get some rest," he spoke softly, compassionately.

"We need to get after him." Adrian stood rapidly leaving the more elderly officer to strain and ease himself into an upright position. A call was quickly made to get some crime scene investigators out. Only two were available at that hour of the morning and they were assured a squad car would seal the place till they arrived.

***

Back at the station, poring over the selected locations that matched Ally's indistinct map, Adrian and Charlie settled on three places that were most likely. All were north and within an hour's drive of the Darling River.

"It'll be as dry as a bone up that way...no rain in ages." Charlie's penchant for idiom went unheralded.

Sergeant Agnew, who preferred the graveyard shift, had just arrived. After quizzing them on what they were up to, still being around the office, he then heard their story. Being in charge and happy to have a little action, he okayed their expedition into the New South Wales remote western outback and even procured a police search and rescue vehicle for them. Agnew also liaised with counterparts in their neighbour state informing them of their proposed search. Commitments were made by the sister force to send support teams should the search find any evidence of Clements.

Unbeknown to Adrian and Charlie, Michaels had advised that any venture by 'Burton and Palmer' that got them away from the city should be approved. If he couldn't dissuade his involvement, he had decided to relieve Adrian from active duty due to his emotional trauma. They would then be free and undistracted to deal with Clements' abduction demands. It had become apparent that the homicide detective's interjections, during briefings, had caused them to doubt whether he still was functioning normally—with his cool, analytical thinking.

So, the preparations and antics of, what was viewed as, Adrian's support group went largely unnoticed. In fact Charlie Palmer was the only one of the group still on the clock assisting his partner. Adrian was insistent that they pack water and survival gear and leave promptly, to get away from the city before the morning peak traffic. They would sleep off road or at a truck stop when driving became too arduous. Driven by a manic need to test their assumptions and advance their pursuit of Clements, Adrian insisted on driving the first hour. It was just as well since Charlie was soon snoozing, maps spread on his lap, unconscious of what was happening.

When Adrian had swung dangerously onto the road shoulder for the third time, he decided he should find a rest area. It was a relief to locate a service station and restaurant where he could pull in. Even though he'd been at the wheel only two hours, it was now over twenty four hours since he had slept. Charlie woke him four hours later. It was almost lunch time. They made their way to the restaurant and managed a hamburger and milkshake each.

A call into headquarters had Willy updating them on the preparations for the ransom exchange. She told Adrian that Gordon and Michaels had visited the offices of the shoe business the previous day—Friday—and obtained keys. And, later that night they had explored the tunnel to the second platform at the station and the various exits Clements could take. She had found out, only, minutes ago, that they had received a call from Clements. He had said that he knew they were trying to set a trap for him. If the place wasn't deserted when he collected the money then they wouldn't see the girl alive again. Adrian asked if she could play the recording over the phone. She said she would set it up if they rang back in ten minutes. As an addendum she said the call had been traced to a local public phone.

"Why do you need to hear the call?" asked Charlie and then he did a double take. "We're wasting our time if that was a local call." His eyes squeezed and his mouth compressed with annoyance.

Adrian clenched his teeth but said nothing. The two men ate slowly. Charlie didn't want to add to his partner's misery by speculating about their next move.

Adrian checked his wrist watch. He got up and used the public phone. He listened to the recording as Willy replayed it for him. He asked her to do it again and beckoned Charlie to hear it.

The words were quite muffled.

"I saw you go into the old mail exchange. If you think you can set a trap for me think again. You keep everyone out of there, if the place isn't deserted when I collect the money on Sunday you won't see the girl alive again."

The actual message was almost exactly the same as that paraphrased by Willy. When they sat down again Adrian said abstractedly, "What do you think?"

Charlie was unsure what to say. "I guess we're back to square one...I mean..."

Adrian cut him off. "No, no...did you hear how he talked nonstop and then hung up. Someone played a tape. He wasn't there...we're still on track."

"How could he know they went into the building?"

"I'm only guessing, but I'd say he knew it was a sure thing...probably paid someone to watch the building. When the police were spotted, they called and played the tape."

"Bit of a long shot! Do you really think Clements would do all that just to throw us off the trail?"

"Charlie...he's a copper. He knows he wouldn't have a chance if anyone had a clue where he was. How could he expect to get away?"

Charlie thought for a few seconds. "What if he really does pick up the money in a taxi? There might be ways he could change taxis or lose the surveillance."

Adrian sniffed as if he conceded the possibility. "Maybe...but my bet would be that he'll tell his associate that he needs to pick up the money and if he gets away with it it's his. That will guarantee, at least, that there will be a bit of a chase."

Charlie grumbled, "I guess that means we keep going. At least if we find nothing it means we can rule it out." He was sounding more ironic than he intended. He privately chided himself remembering the pain his partner must be feeling.

"You can go back if you want," offered Adrian. "To me, this is the only substantial lead we have, regardless of how far-fetched it seems."

"Well, we better get going then, hadn't we?"

***

Driving hard with the briefest of stops for driver swaps, toilets, fuel and food, meant both were fatigued by the time they got to Wilcannia. It was dark, later than they had hoped, and the place had that middle-of-nowhere feel to it. Charlie dissuaded Adrian from dragging out the swags in preference to the cheap roadhouse that would mean no packing of bedrolls in the morning and breakfast on hand. The argument for haste held sway and they roused the proprietor with the night bell to get a twin bed room. The modicum of comfort was the unspoken motivation for the aging detective.

Weariness submerged them in sleep within a few short minutes. Any plan Adrian had to read or pray was engulfed by the tiring fog obliterating conscious thought from his mind.

Chapter 14

Sunday morning, while it was still dark, the two homicide detectives filled the tank and set off along a dirt road which skirted the north of the Darling River. The first homestead they were heading for was about thirty kilometres along the road. Charlie was driving and talking incessantly about trying to keep up with the operation in the city, wondering about the various homesteads Clements frequented on his hunting trips and the likelihood that Lancaster would foul up the operation anyway.

"You still think that Clements is there...in Melbourne...plotting his escape with the ransom money?" angled Adrian.

"I'm willing to go fifty, fifty."

"That's extremely generous of you...I'm willing to grant the possibility that there's a third avenue of escape that he's taken. I mean..." His sentence was severed by the smashing clatter of bullets raking through the car.

Charlie yelped and the car lurched wildly. The windscreen shattered into crazed zigzags of thousands of interconnecting cracks. Slewing dangerously near the edge of the road as automatic gunfire continued to slam into the side of the vehicle, Adrian realised that Charlie had been hit. He grabbed the backpack with supplies in it, undid both sets of seatbelts amidst the mayhem of the banging of bullets, crumbling windows and uncontrolled skidding on punctured tyres. As the car was still coasting to a stop and flames, thick black smoke and steam began pouring from the engine obscuring everything. Adrian flung his door open and dragged Charlie out the passenger side. The dusty, sandy verge absorbed some of the impact as the two men rolled down the slope and finished in a culvert. From there, Adrian dragged his groaning partner as far as he could away from the smoking, flaming car rolling farther up the road.

Another spray of shots struck the car before it erupted in a pillar of fire and smoke. A huge whump blasted from the exploding fuel tank and tore apart the rear panels. The wreck was now a raging inferno slowly grinding to a halt a hundred metres up the road. Adrian had been buffeted and bruised by the pummelling from the tumbling exit. It took him some time to clear his head from the battering and become aware of Charlie's wounds. Tussling between care and urgency, Adrian hauled him along, away from the direction of gunfire beyond the car. They were screened by smoke, the gloom of early morning and the camber of the road shoulder toward the ditch parallel to the road. Though a dead weight, Charlie wasn't big and Adrian, fit as he was, was imbued with extraordinary strength by the rush of adrenalin. He was almost jogging backwards dragging his partner.

A myriad of thoughts cascaded into his head at once. He was waiting. On the hill where the homestead was, he had executed a premeditated, deadly attack. Someone had contacted him and passed on their presence. His mind stopped chewing over the avalanche of accusations—mainly against himself—and took notice of a drain running under the road. It was just big enough to crawl through. There was no way he'd drag Charlie through that. Because it was still dark, he chanced the crossing over the road and into the gully on the other side. Tiring, it was only achieved by marshalling his energies in one concerted effort. His hope was that the flaring blaze now almost two hundred metres off would be too glaring to see beyond to the dark shapes flitting a distance away.

The gully led to the almost dry bed of the river. He lay Charlie down gently in the sand and in the dim light of the dawn he examined the wounds. Soon his tee shirt was torn into strips and he was binding a flesh wound on Charlie's side and a more severe wound on his leg. His partner, conscious but in shock, was grimacing at the pain. Once he had concealed Charlie under a shrub and obscured him with a layer of sand, his predicament registered. A choice; try and work around the back and surprise Clements with his measly service pistol pitted against an automatic rifle or get help for Charlie. If he went on his own against the murderer he could get killed and Charlie would likely die. It really wasn't a choice. He knew what he had to do.

"I'm going to have to go back to town and get help. It'll be three hours at least."

"Uh huh," moaned Charlie. He waved him off with the back of his hand as if to say 'get on with it'.

"There's water and snacks in the back pack next to you. Try not to move too much. He might come down just to make sure we didn't escape. If he checks the wreck he might realise we're not inside."

The other detective gave an impatient nod. "Go," he grated.

Indecisive to begin with, Adrian began by using a branch to try and obscure their tracks. Then he left, keeping low along the banks of the river. After travelling about five hundred metres and believing that in the dimness he would not be visible, he got onto the roadway and started jogging. It was slightly less than twenty five kilometres but still a lot farther than he would normally run. He kept a steady stride knowing that he would have to pace himself or he wouldn't make it at all.

Running. Thud, thud, thud, thud; the meter of his steps chanted 'you fool, you fool' over and over. What had he been thinking? Was it the imagined invincibility of youth that had caused him to be so reckless? Clements was a cold-blooded killer and he'd led his partner almost to the front door without considering that his adversary would be prepared. Running. Every step closer but still so far to go. Soon the pain in his mind would be matched by the pain in his legs. On and on and on, the openness of the terrain made the road seem like a treadmill.

Desolation. All about him life was being strangled by the dry, by the heat of the season. Words of the curse came back to him. With each thumping step it reminded him of the consequence of trusting in man; that was the curse of relying on his own strength. 'Like a bush in the wastelands...they dwell in the parched places of the desert...' He couldn't remember the rest. He had done this to Charlie and to himself. Maybe he had done it to Ally as well. Could God have intervened? He begged God for strength. He wanted to be like the other tree—planted by the waters. He kept running.

His thoughts were wretched. Was Ally alive? Was she so close and he was running in the opposite direction? His breaths were now laboured. His clothes were wet with sweat. A heaviness was impeding his legs. He pushed on. The sun was now rising and even at that early hour it had a bite. Heaving breaths and aching chest joined his nearly numb legs pounding stride after stride. Those early morning runs had benefitted him in some measure but now the exertion was demanding. He was running in a daze.

After forty minutes he slowed to a walk. His breaths were ragged and his steps foreshortened. The distance ahead showed nothing but the reddish clay road and a smattering of trees on the right with a swathe of growth hugging the river course on the left. That cover was some distance from the road now. His mind said run but his body protested. Within ten minutes, Adrian urged himself back into a rhythm of loping paces.

This time he ran for thirty minutes. His mouth felt dry and he berated himself for not taking water with him. His eyes down on the gravel road gave the impression of greater movement. Five minutes of walking and he recommenced his arduous slog. By easing his speed and counting lots of one hundred steps, Adrian compelled his body to endure running for another strenuous forty minutes. Wracking gasping, panting breaths almost brought him to his knees. His wobbly legs and knotting muscles all conspired to bring him to the ground. He staggered as he forced howling breaths into his lungs.

Soon, again, he was commanding his body to respond to the crisis. And so it went on and on. The sun gathered strength sapping him of his. The arid surrounds, and soon the roadway itself, became a blur amidst stinging sweat in his eyes and the delirium brought on by extreme exhaustion. Stints of unsteady jogging became shorter and shorter with longer intervening phases of painful tottering.

He was in the outskirts of the town, wobbling in a stupor, before he realised where he was. With agonising effort, he crossed the main road and continued on. The two storey police station appeared on the right. Adrian stumbled in. He teetered as he tried to focus. Images spun before his eyes as he collapsed on the floor. Two officers put down their coffees and rushed to him. Water was the first response. When Adrian was supported and the cool liquid was dribbled in his mouth he seemed to gain lucidity. His mind, however, was still in catch up mode. Where was he? What was he doing? A shooting. A wounded partner. It all came back.

"What's your name?" asked the senior of the two.

His voice had dried out and he crackled an incoherent wheeze. He tried again. "Detective Burton...Victoria Homicide...pur..." He gasped. "Pursuing a murder suspect...my partner has been shot."

The senior constable looked at him doubtfully. "Have any ID?" Adrian, still breathing heavily, pulled his badge in the small wallet out of his pocket. "Call your head office," he croaked. "They'll confirm."

While the other was making the call the first policeman grabbed a pad and wrote questions and answers. "So, who's wounded?"

"Senior Detective Charlie Palmer." He took another long draught of water, emptying the cup.

"Who's the suspect?" "Zane Clements...He's a renegade policeman...gone feral."

"What's he done?"

"Multiple murders, abduction—he's got a girl with him as a hostage, drug crimes...you name it." Adrian's strengthening voice showed his gradual recuperation. Despite that he still quivered from the gruelling marathon.

"He's right Wally...Although they registered it an unlikely search," said the officer on the phone.

"Tell them there's been a shooting...alert the feds of the abduction...and get Val and Laurie on the blower. We'll need the ambulance." He reverted attention to Adrian.

"Where did this happen?"

Adrian pointed in the way he had come. "Along the river...about twenty five k...There was a homestead on a small rise."

"The Gurnett's place. Old Alf wouldn't know what to do with Brian away."

Wally turned to his fellow officer. "Shane, give Dean and Pete a call...they'll be doing a stroll down Main. Tell them where we're heading." Shane held up his hand as if stopping traffic while he gave instructions to the ambulance team regarding the site of the incident.

Adrian was battling to get to his feet. Leg muscles were knotting and quivering with spasms. He waddled to the tap and filled the cup again. "You need to rest...We'll get you seen to by the doc," stated the one called Wally.

"No, I'm going with you. He has a hostage and automatic weapons. This is not something we can wander into."

At that pronouncement, the senior constable went to the secure weapons store and retrieved a semi-automatic rifle and a pump action shotgun. "We'll escort the ambulance so they can evacuate your wounded mate, and then we'll look for this crazy." Adrian gestured agreement and felt a little more at ease that the officer would provide level headed support.

"I'm Sergeant Blake," he said belatedly, "But call me Wally. And that's Senior Constable Smothers...goes by Esses...guess you can work that out." The dry bucolic humour would have appealed to Adrian in a less pressured situation but his only thought was to get Charlie to safety and rescue Ally.

"Did you come by foot all the way back?" The sergeant was trying to make sense of what had occurred.

"Yes."

"What happened to your car?"

"Shots started a fire...It was burnt out."

Blake twisted his mouth as if it helped him think.

***

An hour had passed since Adrian had staggered into the police station and he was anxious to leave. The rural ambulance arrived as gear was being stowed into both of the police vans. The two locals took the front seats and Adrian a rear seat and the small convoy then raced out of town. The frightening speed on the rutted road filled Adrian with qualms about getting to Charlie at all. He cautioned them to slow after fifteen minutes, afraid that he would miss the place he had left his partner. A minute or two passed before he saw it. The gully was more pronounced in the daylight and he instructed Smothers to stop.

Stiffly he shuffled, on protesting legs, along the depression to the bend in the river; except, in the daylight, this was a straight stretch. A gathering of the locals behind him fostered his uncertainty about the spot. He smelled the cloying smell of stagnant water upstream. Scanning frantically around, he couldn't place where Charlie had been concealed.

"I'm here," came a weak gruff cry a little up from where he was, deeply entrenched under sand and low hanging branches.

More deliberately, Adrian strode in the direction of the voice, still not sure where exactly Charlie was lying.

"There he is," called one of the medical team. A shoe was wiggling out of the sand. Carefully, a group of them started brushing away sand and gently dragging Charlie out of the hollow he'd been buried in. Grit caked on blood that had seeped through his shirt and trousers. He moaned with pain as he was lifted onto a stretcher. It was Laurie who recruited one of the police to carry the other end of the stretcher over the rough ground as Val wiped Charlie's face and rested a hand on his shoulder.

Making certain that Charlie was in good hands, Adrian got back into the police van with Blake and then hurtled the last two hundred metres up the road, past the still smouldering wreck and into raised area where the homestead buildings were clustered. All five men bounded out of the vehicles as they slid to a halt on the dusty drive. Wally was pounding on the front door demanding entry. When no reply came, he went in. The others followed. Adrian knew already that it was futile. The place was deserted. Another cottage to the back of the yard was dealt similar treatment. There they found an old man tied to a metal framed bed. He was in a miserable condition having no food or drink and been unable to toilet since being bound.

"Are you okay Alf?" uttered Wally kindly as he untied him and helped him sit up, ignoring the stench."

"He...he threatened to kill me," he said with an asthmatic voice.

"Don't worry...we'll get you help." He nodded, "Get the ambo to come back here Shane."

The other officer exited quickly. Blake looked at Adrian. "What do you want to do now? We know that reinforcements are coming. It may be best to wait."

Adrian took a deep breath. "We have to outthink him...anticipate what he is going to do next and intercept him."

"He'll only be a few hours ahead. Tilpa's about seventy k...He'll be past that. There's a homestead, Kallara; it has an airfield. Trilby's fifty beyond that and then I'm a bit hazy about what's up there."

Blake furrowed his brow. "I know Bourke's another hundred k. Do you want to head off straight away?"

"No...Let's wait for more manpower. Maybe we can talk them into a helicopter."

"We'll go back to the station then...Tell us what you know about this guy. It might give us a few clues."

"Sure. Do you mind if we hang around for a little bit? I want to have a good look around the rooms first."

"If you like." Blake gave a 'suit yourself' face as if he thought nothing could be gained by staying on.

The senior constable watched as Adrian went through each room and put his face close to the walls to examine them.

"What are you lookin' for?" he asked.

"A sign that Ally's been here...can't see anything yet."

"Ally?... That her name?"

Adrian grunted assent, "Yep."

It wasn't until he got to the bathroom that he saw a faint 'A' and the beginnings of a 'W' on the opposite wall to the toilet roll.

"Probably only chance she got," he muttered. "What?" queried Blake.

Adrian pointed to the lettering. "Ally has been putting her initials on walls...possibly using the handcuffs. Maybe the toilet was her only opportunity."

"So...she's still alive...that's good," concluded Blake without understanding the effect it had on Adrian's sensibilities. The homicide detective left the house tight-lipped. 'It was good,' he thought but the small consolation only made him more determined.

***

Sandwiches were eaten and numerous cups of tea were consumed back at the station. Adrian explained their research and mentioned two other locations farther north. One—Ford Bridge—a short distance south of the Queensland border, appeared to be the closest locale near, what had been described by a fellow hunter as 'a bush camping site where an old homestead had been razed to the ground by fire'. Adrian suspected that Clements was going to camp out somewhere off the beaten track. He felt the fugitive had hoped, by disappearing, that the search for him would merely peter out.

In the afternoon Adrian and Blake visited Charlie. He was grumpy at being confined to the hospital bed. The doctor rationalised that he'd lost a lot of blood and a couple of days monitoring of the wounds for infection was necessary given that he'd been buried in the bank of the river. Advice that Adrian could arrange an airlift back to Victoria gave him some cause for casting aside his gloom. Before making his way back to the police station, Blake got a local to open a clothing store so Adrian could restock on some changes of clothing.

Back at the station, Adrian got on the phone to Michaels. The inspector was gruff, "What is it Burton?"

"Sir, I was wondering how you went with the ransom money...has anyone turned up?"

"We nabbed Victor Ferrier, a petty crim, as he came in the building to check the money. Swears he was paid by Clements to check it and then get a cab and collect it at six."

"What was he going to do with it?"

"Clements told him he could have half of it if he took it out west to Portland and met him in a particular cafe."

"He just volunteered that?"

"Well...we did threaten him with accessory to murder charges, kidnapping and conspiracy charges."

"So...you going to follow him?"

"We will...but I think you were right...it's starting to look like a smokescreen. There's no clear logic to the rendezvous point and no indication that the Whittle girl is in the mix."

Adrian was getting sick of the off-hand way everyone was dismissing Ally's welfare. "She's alive and up here," he declared flatly.

"How do you know?" There was genuine curiosity in Michaels' question.

Adrian took some time to describe their encounter with Clements or, as Adrian put it, 'an aggressor who, by all accounts, must have been Clements'. The wounding of Palmer and the destruction of the police car concerned the senior officer greatly. He immediately promised several teams to come up and assist, although Adrian assured him that the New South Wales police were also joining in on the hunt.

Adrian heard Michaels barking orders with some alacrity, assigning teams to trail and then apprehend Ferrier.

Adrian cautioned his boss that, in his opinion, Clements was becoming irrational and showed signs of losing touch with reality. "Sir, he ambushed us with an automatic rifle and kept shooting till the car blew up. He has no scruples about killing. It's like he's gone over the edge and there's no going back."

"We might send some marksmen. I'll chat with Grosvenor. He runs the Specialist Operations up north. They may make some jurisdiction noises in which case we'll negotiate some sort of cooperative effort." Michaels was businesslike. Adrian listened as he ordered several other juniors to complete tasks that would shift their focus to the northern outback. He then redirected to Adrian.

"I should congratulate you again on anticipating Clements' moves, but I guess these are all hollow words until we get your girl back, aren't they?"

Adrian was subdued, "Getting Ally back...that's the aim. With Clements' noxious state of mind, that won't be easy."

Michaels outlined his program. "So, you need to wait for some support before you go after Clements. We'll catch up to where you are. Let us know where you think he's heading if you have to travel and we'll work together to corral him."

"Sounds good." Adrian's brevity implied that the inspector's glib analysis fell far short of the reality he envisioned. "I'll let you know how we go."

Sitting in the station, Adrian was poring over maps of the sparse strands of road linking homesteads and far flung rural communities when Blake came in. "They're not sending any choppers until we have a 'more definitive search area'," he said with emphasis as he symbolised quotation marks with his fingers.

"We should go then," replied Adrian, making a spur of the moment decision. "Every hour we wait makes it that much harder to keep track of him."

"Well the vehicle needs supplies. I'll get Shane to put some Gerry cans of fuel and water in and I'll get emergency food and bedding packs we use for searches and long-distance patrols. There's a shower down the back. Why don't you freshen up?" He cast a deprecatory look at the dishevelled detective. "You look like you need one."

Adrian was in no mood to fritter away precious time on cleanliness but he would have to wait anyway. The hot shower reinvigorated him and soothed his aching body. By the time he emerged into the main office, Blake was versing his junior on tasks he needed done and keeping them informed of reinforcements from the city. Getting the officer to repeat his instructions to keep him informed seemed to alleviate his concerns. He strode to the door.

"Come on Detective Burton. We have a murderer to catch. He handed Adrian a paper bag. "My wife made us some ham and salad rolls."

"Thanks...I do have a bit of an appetite." Both moved to the police van munching on their rolls.

The storage section of the van was crammed with a tent, food, sleeping gear, Gerry cans and their clothes. "How far do you want to go tonight?" Blake asked as he started the car.

"Not sure. First, I'd like to stop at Alf's place for another quick look around. We can decide as we go can't we?"

"Yeah...I'd like to give the homesteads a heads up though. The tent's only a last resort. And these roads are dangerous once it gets dark...roos everywhere."

"I'll leave it up to you then. You know better than me."

The car flew along the dry sandy road leaving a plume of the reddish dust hovering in the still air. It took little more than fifteen minutes to traverse the distance to Alf's place. The old man was still in care so the place was empty. A cursory walk through the house, glancing in cupboards, bins and bedrooms had Blake bemused. "What is the point of this?" he asked, wondering whether the city detective had become irrational because of his over exertion.

"I wanted to double check a few things." He rubbed his nose as if a pungent smell had irritated him. "But mostly, I want to look in the shed."

Blake shrugged and led Adrian to the extensive corrugated iron shed. A large tarpaulin covered one of the vehicles while a small sedan and a quad bike were on the far side. Adrian lifted the rear of the covering. "Just as I thought. He's swapped cars again. We need to circulate the make and number of Alf's vehicle. No doubt Clements was hoping he'd be long gone before we realised he was driving something else."

"That'll be handy to know." That was the extent of Blake's concession that the stop off had been worthwhile. "I'll give the station a call and get them to spread the details."

The chase continued. The car sped but their destination was indefinite. It was a case of travel fast and hope, and their course would be contingent on what they found on the way. The second near miss of a kangaroo, induced common sense to prevail. They pulled off into one of the homesteads which had been forewarned by Blake. Country hospitality demanded a huge dinner and lengthy conversations late into the night. Being off the road several hundred metres, there was no categorical confirmation of Clements' passing, though they insisted that it was most likely he was one of the five or six vehicles that had gone by.

A call, in the morning, to Michaels revealed that the overnight trailing of Ferrier had been in vain. No one had turned up to collect a large box of paper—they had dispensed with the idea of using real money with Clements being trailed in another state. The inspector said he was sending four detectives as a token contribution to the search. He had been assured that New South Wales police were making every effort to capture the suspect. Teams would be in the area by the afternoon. No helicopters had yet been assigned to help locate the fugitive and his hostage.

Little of what Michaels told Adrian gave him much encouragement.

"I think everyone believes Clements will just turn up somewhere and be arrested," groaned the Victorian to the other policeman.

"What do you think will happen?" asked Blake.

"I think he's unstable and unpredictable. He may go completely bush, or have a violent confrontation or...try and disappear."

"How's he going to disappear?" There was a touch of scepticism in Blake's question.

'Use your imagination. I can think of a number of ways...we'll have to wait and see." Then as an afterthought he added, "I think he's delusional and treating Ally as though they're escaping together."

Blake looked confused. "How did you come up with that?"

"Never mind. Let's just get after him." His capacity to satisfy people's curiosity was waning.

"No...I'm serious. You operate at a different level to what I'm used to. You think he's delusional?" Adrian took a deep breath. The man had been helpful. It was the least he could do. "When we were at Alf's did you notice he'd been feeding her, letting her sleep in a bed and getting her supplies? She didn't have the handcuffs to scrape her initials. It looked like she was using her finger nails."

"So...he's expecting her to come around?"

"Or...maybe take her somewhere where she won't have a choice."

***

Their early departure was fraught with risk. Mobs of kangaroos were almost as much of a peril lingering by the roadside in the early dawn light as the evening before in the dimness of dusk. The big creatures hovered on the road verge and bounded away skittishly as the car approached; only the brighter light, with improved visibility, allowed Blake to anticipate the more obvious hazards.

The seared terrain rushed by as the police van juddered over ruts and corrugations and spewed clouds of dust behind. By mid-morning they had reached a T-intersection and debated whether to go to Bourke twenty five kilometres east or investigate the isolated homestead forty kilometres northwest that was the last of Clements' listed shooting destinations.

"If he's not there we can still go back to Bourke and be there by lunch. Unless his trail keeps going," stipulated Adrian, not willing to divert from the chase.

"Yeah, I guess you're right. The Ford's Bridge people will be able to tell you if they went through or not."

Heading left, the desiccated landscape was punctuated by tree-lined dry creek beds and washouts. When they veered right it took some time to negotiate what was, in some places, little more than a two wheel track, to reach a cross road which had been sealed two hundred metres in each direction from the homestead. A short distance to the right along the bitumen was the homestead and farther along the namesake bridge.

With the husband out mustering, it fell to his wife to describe the sound of a car passing through during the night. Having shooed the two children out to the back yard she provided the obligatory cup of tea rare visitors partook in as part of outback hospitality. Gwynne, a young country woman starved of companionship, thought it was very strange for anyone to be driving the dirt tracks at night. The two police thanked her profusely before extracting themselves as politely as they could.

Adrian consulted the map before they set off once more. There was an air of expectation. Weapons had been inspected and readied. No longer lurching along at breakneck speed, there was a deliberate, wary advance to the projected camp site. The reduced velocity meant the red dust rose marginally behind the vehicle. Saltbush and spinifex struggled to survive along with the occasional stunted eucalypt and acacia. Salt pans had distinctive salt tolerant rushes while near the dried out water courses larger eucalypts made use of riverbed moisture. Numerous tracks crisscrossed the main gravel road and Adrian was doubtful he could identify exactly which was the track to the left to take. Gwynne had told them it was just after a main crossing track with a fence line. If they crossed Green Creek they had gone about five kilometres too far. The instructions didn't fill Adrian with much confidence.

Surprisingly, the fence line was the cue. Had Gwynne told them the road was gated and the left turn was the first track after the gate it would have been easy. As it was, Blake deviated down the dusty, winding lane certain it was the wrong one.

"Why didn't she say it was just after the gate if it was this one?" he contended.

After the third time he expressed his doubts, Adrian drew his attention to curling tendrils of sooty smoke appearing through the trees. Perhaps a campfire, guessed Blake.

Upon seeing the olive green algae covered stream bed after which the creek was named, they veered right into a clearing. Both their gazes fixed on the smoking ruins of a burnt out vehicle. The horror of what they might find pounded on his temples. As they exited the van both men clutched their firearms. The blackened hulk still radiated heat and the acrid smell of smouldering rubber and charred upholstery tingled Adrian's nose.

Upwind from the small, licking flames and shimmering heat emanating from the skeletal remains, they saw what looked like the remnants of two humans, carbonised beyond recognition. A sickening vacuous ache twisted Adrian's stomach.

"Surely not," he moaned.

"Look at this," beckoned Blake. Adrian went toward the ground level leftover foundations of some long past dwelling. Written in white sand on the dark shadows of the ashes of burnt walls were the words: "I told you not to follow us."

"No! He couldn't have!" howled Adrian.

"You said he was unstable...unpredictable you said. I think he went over the edge—insane." Blake's voice was quiet. The immensity of the tragedy for Adrian had struck him forcefully.

"There must be another explanation," he blubbered.

Blake became matter-of-fact. He spoke slowly. "Two bodies...we were chasing two people. This is Alf's car...or what is left of it...and, there's the message...he was a vindictive brute, I'll say that."

Trying to regain some equilibrium, Adrian circled the wreck several times. What was going on? It couldn't end like this? He studied the ground. There were tyre tracks running toward the smoking shell. He walked back along the track a short distance looking at the tracks on the ground. He studied them and then he stared at the strange green creek bed. It was as if he had regrouped and marshalled his emotions to submit. "We need to get forensics to go over everything."

Blake sighed, "What do you hope to find Burton? You're just prolonging the pain. One car, two bodies...the conclusion is inevitable."

Adrian sat on the sand, his mind in turmoil. Was this evil personified? Desperately wicked. The words echoed in his head. As Adrian processed the atrocity before him, Blake got out a camera and took photos of the crime scene from every angle. He sauntered over to the homicide detective. "We need to head to Bourke and let them know what happened here."

"Do you mind if we go a different way?"

"Why?"

"I have a theory."

Blake looked at him with pity. "Adrian," he said sympathetically using his name for the first time. "The simplest explanation is usually the right one."

"Yeah..." But there was a germ of an idea. He didn't elaborate.

The senior constable yielded to Adrian's suggestion purely in commiseration for his appalling situation. They drove slowly back along the track and then turned left as Adrian scrutinised the track in front of them, matched their progress with the map and scanning where they might turn to go back to the highway. Twenty k north and Blake was fretting that he would get them lost. They turned right and went across large expanses of treed river floodway. The path east was rugged, narrow with clay pans, salt pans and interrupted with the fording of some small creeks and soaks.

It was thirty five kilometres before they reached the paved highway.

"Finally," cheered Blake. "I think you've set us back a couple of hours," grumbled the policeman.

"I think he went north," mused Adrian.

Callously, the other snapped, "He's dead Burton...face it. And it might sound harsh...but the girl is gone too." He chewed on his bottom lip. "I'm sorry for being so blunt...Let's go back to Bourke and we'll have a good feed. Heaven knows I'm starving."

Adrian was about to lash out at his crass comments until he remembered that Blake had no knowledge of his friendship with Ally. To him she was a poor innocent but her anonymity meant he was unfazed—just another victim.

The dash south to the regional town went rapidly. The police station was crawling with special operations police. Blake announced that they had discovered a burnt out car with the remains of two bodies inside. He said everything pointed to a murder suicide by a deranged killer. As a concession to Adrian he shared that 'Detective Burton was of the opinion that somehow Clements had faked his death' so it would be necessary to get incontrovertible evidence from the coroner about the identities of the deceased.

The initial announcement created more questions than answers. It wasn't until Blake had private talks with some of the senior officers that a mood of understanding and resignation descended on the group. The local officer had relayed that Burton had suffered extreme duress and had been under immense strain, being shot at, getting aid for his partner and then discovering his investigation coming to a brutal full stop. The general consensus was of understanding but not indulging his rampant theories of miraculous escapes.

Adrian asked if anyone would accompany him north to see if Clements had fled in that direction.

The sergeant in command said they needed more to go on. What sort of car were they looking for? Where would he be heading? More significantly, who would have been driving the car he had been in if, in reality, somehow two different people had appeared there? The questions were incisive and painful for Adrian. He didn't have answers. But he did know something was amiss. There had been another car at the camp site. He was sure he had identified at least two different tread patterns...and where was the trailer? Here was a crafty adversary. He had outwitted them at every juncture. He had money. He had a hostage, and he probably had a vehicle. Adrian needed to know his destination.

He called the office and asked for Schultz. He needed to know how far north Clements had travelled. Was there any record of him being familiar with the region? Schultz said he would get back to him. Before ending the conversation, he commended Adrian on his deductive powers. "You have a gift Ade," he said. "Use it wisely." The words were a warning to act prudently. Adrian knew he should stop and think strategically, but he had no time. "I'll call you at the next town. Hopefully you'll give me a clue where he's going."

Chapter 15

Unable to get a vehicle and driver, Adrian looked for a rental car. Without a car hire business anywhere in the town, he tried the local car mechanical repair business. The story was long and convoluted. The owner-manager was sceptical. Why didn't the police provide one if he was a homicide detective from Victoria? What did he hope to achieve driving north without being sure of his destination? When the manager scowled suspiciously at him, Adrian withdrew to the open garage, squeezing his forehead, deep in thought.

Geoff, a young mechanic who had overheard the whole conversation, came up to Adrian as he stood disconsolately outside the office.

"Can I have a look at your ID?" he asked, wiping greasy hands on his overalls.

"Why?"

"Just want to make sure you're genuine."

Adrian showed him the small wallet with his badge. He stared at it, then at Adrian. "You really think you can catch this murderer?"

"I think people have underestimated him. And the longer we're delayed the harder he'll be to find." He didn't mention anything about a hostage. It would cloud the issue; after all, he was emotionally involved. He'd have second thoughts too, if roles were reversed.

"You can take my car. It's that ute there...got a full tank."

"What about you...don't you need it?"

"I can walk home...and my girlfriend has a car if I'm desperate." He handed his keys over. "Good luck."

Adrian was mystified. "Why are you doing this... er sorry...what's your name?"

"Geoff...Geoff Blunt."

"Why Geoff?"

"Well...sometimes our local police aren't the sharpest tools in the shed. But I got a feelin' you know what you're doin'."

"Thanks." Adrian shook his hand. "Don't know when I'll get it back to you but rest assured you'll get it back." He didn't feel obliged to explain that Special Operations police from the city had also thwarted his plan to continue the search; and that two bodies in a burnt out car was the reason. He knew his justification for going on was valid but he was also aware that there was a big slice of hope in the mix.

It was a slight hassle retrieving the little gear he had accumulated from Blake's van because he had to admit that he was going it alone. It only added to the inference the sergeant had already made that Burton had lost it. He grabbed a cheese and bacon bun and flavoured milk from the bakery and drove off north. For the first time in several days he was alone. He reflected, and then he prayed. It was a confession that his commitment, in all the crises, had fallen by the wayside. That he had endeavoured to do everything in his own strength and rely on his own wits. Maybe Charlie would have been unharmed, maybe Ally would still be safe if he had prayed and, somehow, sought guidance. He was still not sure how it all worked.

Adrian pulled into the post office in a small town a hundred k north of Bourke. He made the call to Schultz. "You can thank Burns for this one," he began not bothering to expand on the greeting. "He must be almost there by the way...er that's Wilcannia. Where are you now?"

"Don't worry about that. What have you got?" Adrian was dispensing with the pleasantries.

"Apparently he bought a yacht—a second one...motor launch really...quite a big one and it's moored at Townsville."

"Oh great...that's two days' driving. Can you get me a specific location...a dock or wharf and a name and registration number?"

"Sure...say, are you still chasing him? I just heard it all ended... er tragically." He failed miserably at being delicate.

"I'm not convinced Clements would do that."

There was a lengthy pause before Schultz put into words what Adrian had been implying, that Clements had taken at least one and possibly two more lives. "You're saying that he's killed someone else?"

"I think we have to admit to ourselves that we're dealing with a psychopath, especially when it comes to meeting obstructions to his grand plan to help himself to anything he wants."

"Mm..." Schultz was framing his next sentence. "Well, I can't argue with your track record...I'll let you know what I find out."

"I'd appreciate it Stan."

"Oh...and I'll keep it under my hat for the time being. I mean...you might not have realised it but Michaels instructed that you be kept out of the way because of your emotional involvement."

"I suspected as much," muttered Adrian.

"It's all good," continued Schultz with a chuckle in his voice. "You can't be much more out of the way than North Queensland...I'm just obeying orders."

"Yeah, right...Listen, I'll keep calling you since you won't know where I am."

"Okay, and I'll let Brand know what you're up to. He's on night duty. I'll get him to make himself available. He can do the legwork for you from this end. By the way, you didn't say where you are."

"Somewhere north of Bourke...didn't really pay attention to the name."

"Right...well, I'll try and dig up that mooring information for you."

"Excellent. Well, I had better keep moving...The plan is to get there—wherever—before them and take him by surprise."

"You really think he's still on the run?"

"Yeah. I can't explain why. I gotta go."

Schultz ended the call after admonishing him to be careful.

***

When Burns, Banks, Gannon and Clay reached Hay they heard from Schultz about the discovery of the bodies and Adrian's new exploit. It was decided that Burns and Banks would go to Wilcannia to determine if Charlie needed an airlift out and then try and catch up with the investigation at Bourke. The other two decided to head to Townsville as quickly as possible on the off chance that Adrian was on to something. And if he wasn't, he'd need TLC and a ride back home.

There was an eerie mood as the four sat in a café before departing from Hay. The possibility that the whole pursuit had ended in a murder suicide was reflected with a degree of pessimism about Burton's continued efforts. Willy had communicated that similar tragedies had been the unravelling of good officers. Burton would need all the support they could give. For all they knew, he was already unhinged. To be in denial of the plain facts would be a classic symptom.

"If you can't do any more in Bourke, you may as well continue up to Townsville," advised Gannon. "Then we can convoy the journey back home." He grimaced. "I can't imagine what Burton's going through right now. Palmer said he was quite sweet on that girl."

"Well, we'll know one way or another when the crime scene teams examine the wreck whether Burton has lost it or not," sighed Willy.

Burns countered, "On the other hand, if he's right, it will be dicey for him to confront Clements. He has no jurisdiction and hasn't received any authority to act for Vic Police."

"Will he wait?" asked Clay.

"I hope so," answered Gannon.

***

Adrian crumpled the can in his hand. He had been slurping caffeinated energy drinks to stay alert. This was the third one. The endless stretches of outback road before him were hypnotic. He averted his eyes from the road dividing lines. Their rhythmic flashing dulled his senses. At least the excess fluids ensured he had to stop at each intervening town. And then, while out of the car, he flexed his legs, rotated his hips and performed various other exercises as they occurred to him.

It was late evening, nine hours after he'd left Bourke, when he pulled into a service station, gassed up for a second time, and bought a takeaway meal. Although he was weary, he was determined to drive the whole distance to Townsville in one spurt. The rationale was that Clements would need to stop and rest or be vulnerable to his hostage. He imagined, in the same situation, that he would find an out of the way motel and, in the dark, secrete the hostage into the room. He would rest up and then leave in the morning while it was still dark. They were the circumstances he envisioned. The homicide detective was convinced that with Clements it would be about survival, about establishing that he was superior to his pursuer and, having satisfied his greed, the girl would help him satisfy his baser wants. In the back of his mind he knew there was no guarantee that Ally was with him now. Adrian stopped thinking about it then. It made him sick.

Moving to a public phone, the thought that weighed heavily on him was 'desperately wicked'. It wasn't only him or Clements, it was humanity. The reason a police force was essential was to curb its grossest manifestations—like Clements. He dialled the number. It was his third call since stipulating the information he was after. Neilson spoke to him again.

"Yes, I have it," he began. "Harv' wheedled out from the marine authority up north that a boat was registered in the name of Benita Clements." He was referring to Harvey Brand, his partner.

"He registered under his wife. That's a bit lame isn't it?"

"Well, from what Harv' said, the company who sold it was told it was a gift for his wife. I spoke to Burns who said he got several expensive gifts for his wife to try and stop her divorcing him...clearly it wasn't enough."

His bland assessment had Adrian rehearsing the words. "Clearly it wasn't enough." He concentrated his thoughts to the problem at hand. "Where's the boat?"

"Breakwater Marina...It's the main marina in the city. It's a reasonable size motor launch called Marriette. The dealer said it was a second hand vessel already named."

"So is that all I need?"

"No...It's 'E' wharf er...E38" It was obvious he was shuffling papers finding his information. "You should contact Inspector Norris from Police Central...He'll be the one who can authorise any action you take."

"Right." His answer was curt. It seemed both knew Adrian was not about to hang around in a police station waiting for permission.

"Burton...you know you have no authority."

"Thanks Nielson...you've done your duty...I'll let them know you warned me." Adrian couldn't conceal a morsel of insincerity. He was dealing with people's lives—maybe one particular person's life—and there was no room for deference to a conservative approach.

Having restocked on his energy drinks, he again set off. The full beam lights lit the highway with a tunnel of illumination. An occasional wild dog or rabbit scuttled across the road ahead. To begin with, splattering insects and glowing eyes kept him vigilant for that disastrous accident or the possibility of bumping into road kill. He knew a decent size kangaroo could totally clean him up.

During the second hour, after his most recent stop, fatigue started setting in again. He tried to remember a verse or two that he had read from the Bible. Curses and blessings came to mind, being deceived and healing. Then those words reverberated as if someone were saying them; 'Heal me and I will be healed, save me and I will be saved'. "Protect me Lord," he whispered, "Protect Ally."

By the time the fourth hour came, Adrian had wound down the window and was blinking to keep his eyes open. He gulped in the air, did bench presses against the steering wheel and kept rubbing his face with his hands. When, in the fifth hour, he was badly shaken after recovering from swerving off the road in a drowsy stupor, Adrian pulled up on the verge. The lonely, desolate road had almost claimed him. He slapped himself till his face stung.

Adrian endured the mesmerising monotony of the last remaining distance to Clermont biting his lip to stave off the wrapping coils of constricting sleep. A service station provided sustenance for the utility but only a snooze would assuage the demands of a fatigued mind and body. His planned twenty minute powernap morphed into a two hour coma. It was the blaring air horn of a huge truck that resuscitated him to wakefulness. He castigated himself for squandering the precious minutes he had at his disposal and, after several draughts of his caffeine stimulant, he resumed his long haul to Townsville.

It was almost mid-morning when Adrian parked the car opposite the Marina near the sailing club. He took several deep breaths. Were his aching body, his bleary eyes and his pounding head ready for action? Would he think clearly? Could he respond rapidly if this encounter became an emergency or triggered a violent response? He stopped second guessing himself. The fact was, he had to act. Clements had to be stopped.

He checked his revolver. The idea that Clements was here already agitated him. A surprise ambush would be more likely to succeed but he would improvise and make the best of whatever he encountered. The thing was, he didn't know what vehicle to look for. He wasn't about to examine every tyre tread in the hope the one he saw at the campsite could be identified. So, the plan was to forge ahead and confront his quarry if he was already there or, preferably, wait on another launch, out of sight, and nab him when he arrived.

He moved smartly to the office. Because each jetty was secured by a keyed gate he would have to gain entry through cooperation from the marina officials. One or two heads looked up as he entered and then resumed their work. When it was apparent no one else would greet the visitor, a slightly rotund man with dark curly hair elevated himself out of his chair as if all his effort was required to dislodge him from his sitting position.

"Can I help you?"

"Yes...I'm detective Burton from homicide." He flashed his wallet with ID and badge. "I need access to wharf E."

"Mooring jetty E," he corrected. "Why?"

"I believe a suspect has a launch there. I need to check it out. I may have to apprehend him."

The man looked warily at Adrian. "Can I have a look at that ID?" he said officiously. Adrian held it in front of him. "This says Victorian Police...You don't have authority here.

Through clenched teeth Adrian retorted, "I have pursued this man from Victoria. I don't have time to go through channels. People are in danger!" His voice was raised

"The Police Station is just down Sturt Street. It won't take you long. If you can convince them then maybe I'll let you into the marina."

Seething inside, Adrian knew the man was within his rights, even if it was petty officialdom. There were protocols, but he didn't have time. Clements had eluded them at every turn. He had to act without hesitation. He about turned and left. Walking back to his car he encountered a local walking a dog. An idea struck him.

Were there any canoe hire places on the beach, he asked? The local said that right behind the sailing club an outrigger canoe club hired craft. Adrian thanked her and scampered along the walkway that meandered through lawns to the beach.

He spoke to a man with leathery, brown skin. He was sitting in the shade with a board of hiring rates advertised on it. After negotiating a two hour hire session that had a five minute grace period before overtime penalty expenses were incurred, Adrian went to gather his craft.

"Are you going like that?" he queried.

"I suppose I could go in my under shorts," re-joined Adrian.

"Nuh...I have some swimmers you can use. Always have a few spares for the tourists. You have canoed before?"

"A bit...did a little rescue training in the police force," he added.

The man smiled. "You'll be fine then. I won't start your time until you're in the water."

"Thanks."

Adrian went and changed in the nearby swimming pool change rooms. He carefully bundled his clothes and ensured that his gun was easily accessible underneath.

"I can look after those if you like," offered the overly suntanned man as Adrian was placing them in the canoe.

He looked up and smiled. "No that's fine. They'll be all right there." The other shook his head in disbelief. "They'll get wet."

The warmth of the sun and the compressing life jacket made Adrian aware of the tropical heat. He eased the craft to the water's edge and waded in next to it until it floated sufficiently for him to board. The spray from his feet proved the canoe proprietor correct almost immediately but Adrian could hardly conceal his gun without using the clothing. Quietly he paddled, at first to the left, as if he had no idea where he wished to go, and then to the right. Stroking purposefully toward the point, Adrian supposed that it looked like he wanted to go up river. Once out of sight behind the rock breakwater, however, he veered sharply right and paddled into the marina.

His first hope was that none of those in the office were looking out toward the moorings. His second hope was that Clements hadn't arrived yet and, most of all, that Ally was unhurt. To say she was unharmed would be foolish as the whole episode of abduction, threats, captivity and constant proximity to a madman would be harmful and psychologically damaging. He avoided the idea that she may be dead.

A muted gurgling splash was all the sound that came from the outrigger canoe as it slid through the water. Adrian glided past the luxurious yachts berthed at the D jetty and studied the next herringbone pattern of boats. E38 was a substantial sleek looking launch. He wondered how much drug money had gone into purchasing it. A much larger, opulent looking craft at E40 would provide ideal cover for him to hide and wait.

Slipping the canoe alongside the large craft, he secured the canoe to the anchor chain by tying his shirt sleeves around the outrigger crossbeam. Taking his weapon, he then clambered on board as silently as he could. Near the stern, and the walkway, an awning on the boat offered much needed shade. Although getting sunburn while he waited was amongst the least of his worries, he did appreciate the shelter from the biting sun.

Adrian studied the Marriette. He was convinced that no one was on board. That gave him time to gather his senses and make preparations for his surprise onslaught. For the first time, with nothing to do but wait, doubts crept in. It was likely that Clements was alive—the second set of tyre marks indicated that, but what guarantee did he have that Ally was alive. She may have been the other victim in the burnt out wreck. The only reason he thought otherwise was a gut feeling. In his mind he had profiled Clements as a 'ladies' man'. Having taken a beautiful girl as a hostage, he was twisted enough to imagine that he could win her over. That, by the passage of time, she would recognise his irresistible qualities. The concept that a deranged mind couldn't grasp was that the other women in his life had been interested in his money, and you couldn't compel someone—let alone a hostage—to gain affection for you.

He coiled up on some waterproof mattress bench covering, feeling the cool breeze of the ocean and the rocking of the boat. It all conspired to lull him into dozing. He pinched himself and doused his face with salt water. Then Adrian forced himself to analyse the scant evidence and the vague impressions that had spiralled into this conviction that he was where he ought to be.

Clements had money. He had the means of getting away. He had employed numerous delaying tactics and diversions to garner time for his escape. Creating the notion that somehow he was going to succeed in getting a ransom, or lose himself in the bush, was all part of getting to this boat. Staging his own death was the last desperate measure he had to avoid capture. Or was it? Could there be one more? Was there a more certain way to win a safe haven?

Adrian tried to calm his unease. Surely the boat was the best option? He tried to synthesise an alternative. Driving to the far north and hijacking a boat was a possibility. Except that would draw attention to himself and the authorities could be alerted. At some point Clements had to rely on the plan. People would believe he was crazy enough to end it all. They'd stop looking. The rogue policeman was gambling that it was too outrageous to consider that he would murder again merely to manufacture the appearance of his own demise. That was Adrian's theory.

The one indeterminate factor in Adrian's mind; the one variable that refused to become any more certain than a hunch—Adrian's estimation of Clements' warped character—that's what troubled the young detective the most. Had he killed Ally and another innocent or had he added a different two to his list of fatalities? Was Ally taken only on the basis of revenge or was it, as Adrian suspected, the lure of an attractive hostage that somehow fed his disproportionate ego?

Adrian mulled over what had tipped Clements from being a degenerate cop who flaunted the law to line his own pockets, into becoming a serial killer who methodically, with premeditation, tried to eliminate all threats to his survival. He looked at his watch. Half an hour; soon he would become thirsty as well as sleepy. The battle to stay alert had to be won if he was going to have any chance of outmanoeuvring his quarry. So he waited. He tensed muscles. He rehearsed random facts such as US states, international capitals, highest mountains on each continent, and he waited.

When an hour had passed, other possibilities began to push to the fore again. What if he had decided to go as far north as possible? He might take a boat and cross to one of the many islands in the Torres Strait, or even make for the Papua main island. With money, he could conceivably melt into a community of illegal immigrants. If Clements didn't turn up, the whole search would have to start from scratch. It would be a body blow and present an almost insurmountable challenge. He sat and considered how he would go about it.

***

The news that Michaels received was disturbing three fold. Firstly, crime scene investigators had retrieved certain articles of jewellery from one of the incinerated victims that had been identified as belonging to Alison Whittle. There was no one to confirm the ownership of the items found on the other victim. It was a horrendous outcome. The casualty list was mounting and they had been chasing one false lead after another. Somehow, someone would have to break the news to Burton that his girl was dead.

The second awful piece of news was that Palmer had been hit twice when fired upon and he was being medivac-ed out from the small outback hospital after deteriorating vital signs indicated his life was at risk. Burns and Banks had reported it earlier in the day and the race to bring their man into critical care was under way.

The third element of information was probably the most concerning. It seemed that Burton might now be delusional. He had levered out of Gannon that Burton was expecting Clements to turn up in Townsville and escape on a boat, and this was after he had seen the two bodies in the car and read the Clements' message which was defiant to the end—the bitter end. The shock must have caused a mental breakdown. Burns and Banks were also driving up there, and their orders were to secure Burton safely and relieve him of his duties.

Michaels had made frantic calls to the police department in Townsville trying to describe the traumatic events that may have unbalanced the homicide detective. As yet he wasn't aware of his exact location so he promised to keep them updated. Michaels was still in the dark because Gannon had advised the others to withhold that vital information. Gannon's angle was that if Burton was right, the locals may become a hindrance, and if he was wrong they could always fudge the chain of intel'—they could say that Burton hadn't passed on what Schultz had told him and Schultz didn't know that Burton hadn't passed on the information. The fact that Schultz himself had gone home from his shift without bringing his replacement up to speed would be more difficult to muddle away as overlooked in the heat of the action.

***

A clunk of a gate woke Adrian out of his slumber. Disoriented and fuzzy headed, he desperately tried to get his mind into gear. Something was crucial. He remembered the life-threatening events that had led to him hiding on a launch in a Townsville marina. He peered through the clutter of seating stacked under the awning. There, at the entry point was a tall, angular, unshaven man and, to his immense relief, he saw he was supporting Ally. She appeared spaced-out, probably doped into submission. Her clothing was scruffy and her, normally neatly groomed, long blonde hair was uncombed and tousled. This was the first time Adrian had actually set eyes on the man and a deep-seated rage welled up within him. He gritted his teeth, readied his weapon and coaxed himself, "Keep calm, keep focussed."

"Drunk as a skunk," Clements shouted over his shoulder as a marina official at the office door called out if there was any trouble. The man laughed. He made some comment that disparaged Ally and went back into the office.

What Adrian didn't realise was that another marina employee, looking from the windows out in his direction had spotted him crouched at the back of the launch with a gun in hand. Furiously, he dialled for the police. He was informed that a patrol car was nearby and would be on site within minutes. Clements wobbled uncertainly with his unsteady hostage. Ally was barely conscious and teetered off-balance along the walkway. The distance to his boat was a full one hundred metres if not more and Clements' progress was slow.

Adrian quelled any desire to act prematurely. He had to wait until any margin for error was reduced to a minimum. The steps of his challenge ran through his mind. His muscles tensed. Beads of sweat sprung on his brow. The criminal and his prize drew nearer. It was as if Clements sensed triumph. A cruel smirk deformed his face as if depicting his warped mind. Adrian imagined the depravity of his thoughts. Was he pure evil or was he mad? Maybe his evil had driven him mad.

A choppy wave generated by intermittent gusts caused a chorus of thumps and bumps as the boats danced with agitation. The movement unnerved the detective. How could he ensure accurate shooting if the boats were bobbing in the swell? He prayed for a steady hand and a steady boat.

Nearer. The rate of movement as Clements shuffled Ally along the timber walkway was excruciating for Adrian. Droplets of sweat trickled down his back. Almost now. Almost. He was approaching the section where the Marriette was berthed. "We're just about there, my sweet," he panted malevolently. Adrian knew he had to confront him before he could use his craft's cabin as cover. He desperately hoped that nearing his goal would cause Clements to lower Ally onto the dock or against the boat. At present, with her body shielding much of his, it was far too precarious to contemplate shooting. He knew his limitations. Thirty centimetre square was about the minimum target he required to get in an effective shot.

With a surreal slow motion propping forward, Clements released his burden onto the narrow dock. Adrian's brain screamed at him, "Now!"

He leapt onto the jetty. "Hands high Clements! Police!" he roared. "Straight up or I'll shoot." His two hands aimed the revolver at Clements' chest. Ignoring the demand, and with a crazed look in his face he reached behind him under his loose shirt. Adrian knew then what he was doing. He was reaching for a gun. He should shoot. He must shoot. Instead he screamed, "Don't be..." the moment a glimpse of metal appeared he fired, once, then again.

Almost instantaneously, an explosion ripped into Adrian's side. Had his gun misfired? What was going on? Clements was falling backwards. Had he already fired? Adrian swayed and then lost his footing. He tumbled into the water. The biting cold was barely noticeable in comparison to the agonising stabbing in his side. He gulped air before feeling himself sink. Unknown to him, Clements had also collapsed into the water. Desperately, the wounded detective kicked his bare feet, trying to regain the surface. This can't be the end, can it? He swooned with pain. "Am I ready God?" his mind puzzled. If it hadn't been for the life jacket it would have been much more of a struggle to remain buoyant.

Adrian's face broke the surface. The water around him was tinged red by his blood. Pounding feet approached. Arms reached in under his armpits and hauled him onto the timber planks. The searing pain was more than he could take. He passed out briefly.

When he came to, there were police scrambling all about on the narrow jetty. People were yelling. "Stop his bleeding," ordered one.

"Help me get this guy up," gasped one, with much splashing about. He couldn't see, or wouldn't see; with his eyes squeezed shut from the piercing, torturous jabbing in his side. He felt pressure being applied. "He's lost a lot of blood." A girl's voice concluded.

"Has someone called an ambulance?" still another.

"One's on the way."

"This girl's drugged out of her mind" stated a fifth.

To Adrian, who was imagining what was going on, nothing seemed to fit. His body was beginning to shut down from the trauma. There were just lots of police. He was dying. What happened to Clements? He tried to open his eyes but the glare from the sun, directly overhead, was too great.

Chapter 17

In his mind, he was waving goodbye to his family. A dark abyss awaited. But he went past it. Light was a captivating beacon far off but he couldn't draw nearer. Voices were about and he was separated by an indeterminate barrier. Maybe his family were waving for him to come. He was too tired. They could wait. There were more disturbing mind-scapes; were they dreams, hallucinations or imaginings? They were so real and so fanciful at the same time.

***

He was in a bed. Hands were pressing down on him. Not restraining, calming, settling and the words were reassuring. "You're safe now...you're okay...you're in hospital, Detective Burton." His eyes snapped open. A nurse was leaning over him. There was compassion in her face. "Oh...you're awake...here, I'll get you a sip of water." Her soft hand elevated his head as she manoeuvred a straw into his mouth. His first suck made him cough and splutter. Then he grimaced from the pain in his side.

"Slowly, detective...just take it easy."

"Where am I?" Adrian rasped hoarsely.

"Royal Brisbane. You were airlifted in by air ambulance." She smiled sweetly. "I'll go and let the doctor know you're conscious."

Adrian waited and looked around the room. A drip, a beeping monitor, curtain rails and walls with a nondescript paint colour, yes, he was definitely in a hospital. Now he had to make sense of the whole thing. Had he miscalculated, given Clements too much time to pull out his gun? He would ask.

When the doctor came in he was having none of Adrian's interrogation.

"You're a patient. You've been shot. That's the extent of my obligations to you. You'll have to ask someone else about what happened."

"So...I'm going to be all right?"

"Mm...you were very lucky...no vital organ damage, considerable blood loss but not acute. The wound will take a little time to heal but you're in good physical condition. I see no complications arising." He smiled. "Now let me have a look at you." He lifted the blanket and peeled back the dressing while Adrian made faces. "Looks good." He flashed a light into Adrian's eyes, he took his blood pressure and then wrote on the chart."

"How's the pain?"

"Manageable."

"From one to ten."

"About a five."

"Mm..." He looked dubiously at his patient. "Don't put up with pain...it will slow your recovery." He left.

"What day is it?" he asked the nurse as she came back to check on him and exchange his saline bag.

"Thursday."

"Thursday? What happened to Wednesday?"

"You've been sedated to assist the healing." She smiled again. "You've had several visitors. No doubt they'll be pleased you're back in the land of the living."

"Who?"

"Police mates...family..." she paused with a teasing grin. "And a particular girl who seemed very pleased to hear you would recover."

"Ally?" he said. "So, she's safe..." There was a look of bewilderment on his face as he tried to remember. "Do you know what happened?"

The nurse tilted her head. "You don't remember?"

He shook his head.

"I'll get you yesterday's paper. You were big news. There's still some articles about it this morning."

She left crinkling her nose mischievously and saying, "Famous or infamous, you decide."

Adrian wasn't sure whether he liked the inference she was making.

When the newspapers arrived Jill, the nurse, eased him up into a sitting position. He read the headline. 'Police Shoot Interstate Law Man.' Instantly, Adrian gauged what had happened that had bedevilled him. While he had been solely concentrating on Clements, local police must have seen him with the gun and shot him. He couldn't blame them. He hadn't given them a heads up, hadn't sought authority to pursue a suspect in their jurisdiction and given any indication that he was a police officer—being clad only in swimming trunks and life jacket.

There was a big spiel about the manhunt that had spanned three states. It was alleged that Clements was the worst multiple murderer in decades. The front page also made a great deal of the traumatised hostage Alison Whittle. She had been abducted from a Melbourne suburban shopping centre and 'kept captive by the crazed kidnapper during a drama-filled chase across three states.' There was a photo of bedraggled Ally wrapped in blankets and escorted by a police woman. Her look was dazed. Adrian's heart ached for her. What would she think? He was the cause of her calamity. If he hadn't befriended her, Clements would have had to direct his vengeful malice at someone else, maybe Candace. He didn't suppose that would make him feel any better.

Details into the route the suspect had taken was a separate article on page three. It described his journey.

'Senior Detective Adrian Burton, fast becoming a legend in the ranks of homicide detectives in Victoria, was on Zane Clements' trail like a veritable bloodhound. While provisional arrangements were made for meeting a ransom demand, Burton uncannily unravelled the convoluted schemes of the state's worst rogue policeman. Setting off with minimal support, he and his partner, Detective Charles Palmer, caught up with the fugitive north of Wilcannia, in NSW. Ambushed by automatic gunfire and having their police van destroyed, both men barely escaped with their lives. Palmer was severely wounded and was later airlifted to a Melbourne hospital.'

"Good grief...I'll never hear the end of this," murmured Adrian. He read on.

'An unnamed source has informed us that Burton refused to be deterred and continued on the trail with local police. The pursuers encountered an atrocious act of barbarity some distance west of Bourke. They discovered the incinerated wreck of Clements' car with two charred bodies inside. Days later New South Wales' Police identified the victims as Ned and Alisha Wescombe, itinerant gemstone hunters. Police believe the couple had been lured to the site by promises of a lucrative deposit of gemstones in the sediment of Green Creek.

While, initially, investigators supposed the deaths were a murder suicide and a tragic end to a horrific murder spree, Detective Burton pursued undaunted, confident he had the measure of a perverted criminal mind.'

"Where do they get this stuff from?" breathed Adrian.

He read how Marina employees had spotted him on a launch toting a gun and mistaken him for the criminal that Adrian had warned them about. Police were called and shot at Adrian when he shot Clements. Clements was under guard and recovering from gunshot wounds. He also saw that at the time he was listed as in a serious but stable condition.

Another article was a defence, by Inspector Norris from Townsville, of the actions of his men. He argued that there was little else they could do being confronted with an unknown, armed man waiting to accost, what appeared to be, members of the public. Adrian winced, partly from the pain and partly due to the certain knowledge that there would be an inquiry. There were questions he would have to answer.

He put the paper down, suddenly feeling extremely weary. He would read the later newspaper after a rest. He lay back as much as he could. In no time he was asleep. The exertions and fatigue of the past days, his injuries and the weight of anxiety had all taken their toll. But if you had walked in then, you could have sworn his calm expression suggested a satisfied smile tugging at his lips as he slept.

***

Hands shook his shoulders. With concerted effort Adrian drew apart his eyelids. A kindly older woman in a blue uniform addressed him. "Your dinner Mr Burton." A different nurse came in and raised his bed. He didn't recall it being lowered, and decided it must have happened while he was asleep. His dinner was placed on a tray and she described the plain menu of potato mash, vegetables and crumbed chicken with gravy. Stewed fruit and custard were in a bowl.

"Not often I serve a celebrity," she remarked.

The comment didn't register at first and he looked about before realising she was pointing at the newspaper article.

He'd just started eating when Ally walked in. Adrian became statue like, stunned by her appearance, by her fresh-faced beauty and by the landslide of emotions inundating any semblance of rational thought.

"How are you," she began tentatively.

"Much better now that I see you're well. You look amazing."

"I got out of hospital yesterday afternoon...observation," she elaborated trying to dispel any fears he might have held for her. "And... Your parents helped me pick out some clothes," she added coyly. He appreciated the summery shorts and blousy tee shirt before it registered.

"My parents are here?"

"Uh huh, they thought they'd have a coffee and come up a bit later."

He looked at her dreamily, uncertain what to say next. Then he blurted, "I can't tell you how sorry I am about...what happened to you...You know, it was because of me?"

"I gathered that from all the foul things that...that man said about you." A shiver and tremble seemed to combine in displaying her revulsion.

Ally looked concerned. "What about you...they shot you...I...I sort of was numb, all drugged up, but I heard the shooting."

"It was a shock to me too. I thought I had the situation covered."

Ally came closer and brushed his fringe across his forehead. "You saved me," she stated plainly, and then leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. "Thankyou."

Her gentle scent, the cascade of her blonde hair over him mesmerised Adrian. He put his hand around her head and drew her lips to his.

When they parted he took her hand. "I guess we have a few dates to make up."

"Uh huh...when you're well... I'll head back, with your mum and dad, in a couple of days. I suppose you don't know when they'll transport you."

"No idea...I could try and persuade the doctors...though, I'm not too sure I want to be around for Gordon or Michaels to chew me out."

"Why would they do that? You're the hero," she teased, pointing to the current day's news headline.

"You don't know how many regulations and procedures I've broken. No back up...no interstate authority...no consultation with senior officers in a planned lethal force confrontation...trespass on marina property...it goes on."

"Will you get in trouble?"

"I don't know...They could give me a medal as they fire me."

Ally sat on the end of the bed and relived some of the horrific treatment meted out to her by Clements while Adrian ate his, now cold, meal. "Thankfully, I was too spaced out on drugs to know what was going on half the time."

"You knew enough to give us hints about where you'd been and where you were going. We would have struggled without that."

"You saw that?" She had a contented, mildly satisfied expression. "I was petrified he'd catch me." Her eyes looked boggled as she exclaimed, "You know he was quite mad. He had that beady eyed stare as if he could see through you. He kept boasting of his plan that would fool everyone. I...I was terrified of what he intended to do. And he ranted and raved like he was possessed."

"Did you witness any of the murders?"

"No..." She bit her lip. "I saw him set alight the car...with people in it. He just stood and watched it burn."

"Well, hopefully they won't need you as a material witness then. Your statement and all the other factual evidence should be enough to convict him."

"Will you have to give evidence?"

"It's part of my job. I was instrumental in getting a warrant and leading an investigation. It's almost certain I'll be in the dock giving an account of what we found and supporting the list of charges against him."

Adrian's parents appeared at the door then. There were hugs—gentle ones—and the mothers' gift of questioning him and sorting out his needs—clothing and toiletries wise. She also expressed her concerns over his cavalier discounting of his life endangering job and the investigation that culminated in a shooting incident. His dad, Aub, expressed his pride in a son who tenaciously got his man. Adrian thought he was hearing the reading of a blurb from a 'boys own annual'. Maggie explained that they offered to accompany Ally home on a domestic flight from Brisbane, but they would be in again the next day to say their goodbyes.

Before they left Adrian insisted that they spend a bit of time looking around Brisbane rather than wasting their time watching him grouse about his confinement. They knew he was getting better so they should make the most of the long journey. "A short visit tomorrow," he reiterated as they left. Brief hugs from his parents and a lingering kiss from Ally ended an altogether agreeable reunion.

Later that afternoon, Banks, Burns, Gannon and Clay trooped in. Their mood was frivolous. They berated him for not waiting so they could share the glory and the media acclamation of capturing Australia's most wanted. They quizzed him on a range of facets of the investigation. What possessed him to run back to Wilcannia? How did he know where to head? How did he know that Clements hadn't killed himself? How did he get there so quickly? Where did he get the car?

"The car!" he cried out. Then he rapidly explained, "There's a guy from Bourke...er...Geoff Blunt...he's a mechanic. He lent me his ute. I don't suppose you guys could go back via Bourke and return it. I should organise a gift or some compensation for him too."

"What? A guy just says here take my car and drive a couple thousand kilometres. I trust you?" asked Clay incredulously.

"What can I say? I have a trustworthy face." Adrian pulled a supercilious look which dissolved when Gannon snickered, "Yeah right, so the police didn't see your face?" The observation was meant to contradict Adrian's estimation of himself.

Adrian rolled his eyes and asserted, "I'm serious...I need to get that car back to him."

Gannon, being the senior officer, had a solution. "You three...rock paper scissors for who's driving straight back with me. The other two drive the ute and divisional van via Bourke." They looked disbelieving at him.

"Go on...I'm serious!" he emphasised.

The first round eliminated Willy, and Adrian got the impression that neither Burns nor Clay particularly wanted to win the next round. It transpired that Clay and Banks were allotted the task of returning Geoff's car. Adrian got their word that they would leave a couple of hundred dollars in the car with a note of thanks. He would pay them back when he got home.

Burns organised a whip around and managed to reach the agreed sum. Adrian was amused, and became even more entertained when they all ribbed him about his star status. Each took turns reading the glowing reports of his 'uncanny investigative ability' or his 'amazing heroism like a knight in shining armour—except he was only wearing a cossie.' One article made much of past cases solved by the inimitable Adrian Burton. Phrases such as Australia's Sherlock Holmes, and Poirot would be proud were quoted with hilarity. They suggested that he might need to engage a press secretary on his return.

It was sobering to see some of the pictures. Shots of ambulances and medics bustling around stretchers conveyed some impression of the frantic rush to get Clements and him to hospital. It made him enquire about Charlie. It was a shock to him that his partner had deteriorated suddenly after he left and had only recently started improving under intensive care. That discussion led to finding a connected article. They read a description of Adrian's 'herculean run' to 'save a mate', and Adrian said that proved they didn't know what they were talking about. "Hercules never ran the marathon!" he declared.

Even in the current day's paper the stories went on and on exploring every angle of the chase and final skirmish. One piece—a tally of Clements' victims—would have appealed to the more ghoulish of the paper's readers. Another, describing the involvement of a ransom demand, a drug bust and secret tunnels, made them wonder at who the sources for the stories were.

All four seemed reluctant to leave their colleague as if returning to normalcy would forever close a chapter on the extraordinary events of the past week.

"Look after yourself," instructed Gannon after the others had offered parting words. "We'll all get together one day when you're well and really find out how your mind works."

Adrian smiled and waved tiredly. The lack of sleep, the physical exertion and the injuries were all catching up on him. He slept deeply through the next morning, bypassing his dinner and being unaware of the parade of curious staff who wandered in to catch sight of the famous patient.

Apart from a farewell to Ally and his parents, which tugged at his heartstrings, little more of consequence happened over the next several days. Hospital staff were advised that he wasn't making comments for the media, the Victorian Police Force had a department that dealt with such things. The doctor was pleased with his progress. Some members of Townsville police came and apologised, with situational rationalisations, for shooting him. After about the fifth time he told them he understood their dilemma and that the fault was all his, they appeared to accept his acknowledgement that they were only performing their duty.

After a week in hospital, a transfer to Melbourne was organised. Reynolds arranged for a doctor and nurse to fly up and accompany him back. On his first day in the private ward of a Melbourne hospital, Candace came in. There was an awkward silence as the two looked at each other.

"Hi," she began quietly. "I wanted to visit and...and say again...how sorry I am."

"Candace..." he rose in his bed and she appeared to brace herself for another angry rejection. "I have to ask for your forgiveness."

"What?... Why?"

"You've already apologised and I didn't accept it. I realise now that I've been forgiven far greater things and I should have forgiven you."

"Oh...you forgive me?" She perked up.

"Yes...but I want you to forgive me. I was bitter and resentful...I'm sorry."

"Yes...sure...I forgive you...so we're all right?"

"Yes...I'd like us to be friends."

"I'd like that. I realise you now have a special friend...and...well, I didn't want us to end the way we did."

They spoke for a short time discussing Adrian's recovery and the media attention his investigation stirred up. Adrian thanked Candace for drawing his attention to his preoccupation with work. He hoped life would be more balanced from now on. As she left, Candace gave a parting kiss on the cheek and said they should keep in touch.

Three more days in the Melbourne hospital and he was sent home to continue his convalescence. He stayed at his parent's place and relived the harrowing events through incessant questioning at the instigation of his brothers and family friends. One redeeming factor was that Ally visited regularly. Time was spent grounding their relationship in something more substantial than mutual attraction. They read scriptures together, prayed together and spoke of their aspirations.

Chapter 18

Back at work Sergeant Rene Gascoyne from the Human Resource Department, interviewed Adrian endlessly about breaches to protocols, signs of post-traumatic stress syndrome, the facility of work cover compensation for any ongoing treatment he might receive and evaluations of fellow officers under stress. Adrian remained totally uncritical. He said he couldn't speak highly enough of his colleagues.

The sergeant then went on to probing about what he knew of Clements. Did he know of any accomplices? Did he hint at who had warned him off? Adrian said he had no opportunity to talk with the suspect and it was a mystery who his police contact was.

Gascoyne charged him to inform IA of any clues about corrupt police. "With Sweeny gone, IA are at a loss to identify the leak."

It was something that nagged at Adrian for a while. Someone low profile was somehow gaining by undermining key investigations. It didn't make sense. He would talk with Conrad Smith about it at a later date. Maybe they could come up with a scheme. But it wasn't his portfolio so he pushed it aside.

Gordon, Michaels and Reynolds also had him in for lengthy interviews. And surprisingly they got less hostile the higher the rank of the interviewer. Gordon was pedantic about procedure and Adrian offered many 'yes sir' replies. Michaels was more magnanimous, describing his value to the squad and encouraging him to mentor those around him by sharing his investigative techniques, minus the breaches to protocol. It was about those that there was a note of warning. Michaels said that whenever he went outside the boundaries of regulations he was on his own. This time he was fortunate, his success mitigated his risk taking and straying from the rules.

Reynolds was full of praise. He said he had raised morale, used initiative—possibly when he bent a few rules—and in the past months had been a breath of fresh air to the squad and the force as a whole. He saw a bright future for the young detective.

***

In the months that followed, Adrian and Ally had somehow adopted wedding plans. By some organic process their engagement had become an unspoken reality before it was officially announced. Not a very romantic story—if you like that sort of thing—but, in some ways it verified his strategy of 'the most reasonable' course of action. There was the essential engagement ring and a small get together that somehow turned into a 'reminiscing the case of the crooked cop' evening where speculation abounded as to who was the unnamed source for the newspaper articles.

And, before and after the engagement, unavoidably, there was plenty of courting.

In the spiritual dimension, Adrian's obsession was no longer fixated on 'desperately wicked', instead he rejoiced in being forgiven, 'no condemnation'.

Zane Clements had his day in court. Although it seems prison culture is very adverse for a cop in custody. After being beaten up several times he was moved to an isolation cell. The physical attacks suggested that someone had plotted that any link to the informant would be severed. It wasn't. Strangely Clements kept the information to himself. For Adrian Burton, Clements' brutalisation had a bad odour about it. Perhaps there was another policeman who had wanted to eliminate the possibility of exposure.

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

Stand

**Crossed Over**

Persuaded

Weightless

Hidden Kingdom

137
