CH 1-10

Summary

Lincoln Berenger buried the memories from a childhood raised in a state-run childrens’ home, under years of new memories. It was how he coped. But when he returned to his home town in southern, regional Australia, after a lengthy absence, people closely linked to his troubled past were found murdered. Was this timing a coincidence, or was something more sinister at play?

Chapter 1

The drive from the Royal Hotel to Walter McCormack’s home was short and relatively straight forward. Walter however, usually made it more challenging with the twelve, or so beers floating around in his blood stream.

Driving over the legal limit was something he’d grown accustomed to. It became his daily norm after his wife left him and he retired from work.

To numb the pain and the loneliness, Walter spent his afternoon and into the evenings, propping up the end of the Royal Hotel bar, where he knocked back schooner after schooner, until they kicked him out at closing, or he ran out of money.

Every night, he staggered from the bar to his car, fumbled with his keys, usually dropped them at least once, before finding the ignition.

Every night, he somehow managed to drive his car home, where he’d eventually pass out, only to rinse and repeat the next day.

Tonight, was no exception. As he slowly crawled and swerved his car along the back streets, the passenger side wheels of Walter’s car mounted the kerb, before he reacted late and swung the vehicle back onto the road.

‘Woops…’ he said, then giggled to himself.

His glazed, bloodshot eyes lifted to his rear vision mirror. No damage… He sighed his relief.

The vehicle’s left-hand indicator continued to flash from when he turned a corner about four streets back. The bright amber flashes repeated against the dark of night.

When he arrived home unscathed, his vehicle’s wheels hit the kerb with a jolting thud, after he misjudged the turn into his driveway. He left his vehicle parked on a forty-five-degree angle across his driveway, and stumbled out his car door.

Walter patted his pockets, as he staggered to his front door. He stopped on the front porch, while he dived a hand into every pocket, searching for something.

As if in a trance-like state, Walter stumbled back to his car, reached in through the driver’s door, which he’d forgotten to close, and dragged the keys out from the ignition.

When he returned to his front door, Walter dropped the keys twice before he eventually found the front door lock and opened the door.

He only made it as far as the lounge room. After he turned on the TV, he collapsed back into his arm chair and fell into his regular, alcohol-fuelled sleep, where he often remained until morning.

Up until now, tonight was a carbon copy of every night of Walter’s miserable later-life. But unbeknown to Walter, that was all about to change.

While Walter slept off his nightly bender, the silhouette of a darkened figure slowly slinked along the front path, from the driveway, towards the front door of Walter’s home.

The mysterious figure paused at the front porch when he found the front door wide open. He checked his surrounds were clear from prying eyes, adjusted his balaclava, then slowly entered Walter’s home.

The lounge light was on. Walter slouched on the chair in front of the TV, with his back to the intruder. A late-night movie played at an elevated volume.

The intruder slowly inched his way around to the front of the chair. As he did so, it became evident Walter was asleep.

The sneering intruder stood at Walter’s feet. He scoffed and shook a disgusted head at the vomit trail down Walter’s bearded chin, to his chest and the wet stain around Walter’s groin.

He made his way to the kitchen, returning a short time later with the largest knife from the knife block in Walter’s kitchen.

The intruder kicked Walter’s leg. No response. He kicked the same leg again, only this time harder.

‘Hey…Walter, you piece of shit. Wake up…’

Walter didn’t flinch.

He slapped Walter’s face repeatedly until Walter’s bleary eyes showed proof of life.

He held his head close to Walter, glaring at him until Walter realized someone was standing there.

Walter’s bloodshot eyes widened when his waking vision noticed someone in a black balaclava standing in front of him. The intruder ripped off his balaclava.

Walter’s eyes flared. ‘You…’ Walter blurted when he recognized the face staring back at him. He feebly tried to push himself away in his lounge chair. ‘Come back to finish me off this time, have you…?’

The intruder slowly moved around to stand behind Walter’s chair. Walter’s eyes followed. He peered up over a shoulder at the person standing behind. ‘What are you doing here…? What do you want…?’ Walter slurred. He tried to twist his upper body around to look up at the man behind him.

‘This is for what you did to me when I was just a kid…you fucking piece of shit…you ruined my life and now… you’re gunna pay.’

The intruder plunged the twenty-five centimetre blade into Walter’s chest, all the way to the hilt. While the light faded from Walter’s eyes, he continued his frantic attack.

Walter’s body bounced and jolted from the forceful thrusts. The first plunge of the large blade dissected Walter’s heart. He never felt anything that followed.

While Walter’s lifeblood gushed from his body in rivers, the intruder calmly ambled into the kitchen, grabbed a tea towel, then returned to Walter’s body.

He soaked the tea towel in Walter’s escaping blood, then used it to scrawl the message, “PEDOPHILE” in sixty-centimetre letters across the lounge room wall.

When he was finished, he stood back to admire his work. As a final act of disrespect before leaving, he scrunched up the blood-stained tea towel between his hands, then pitched it at Walter’s lifeless, blood-soaked body.

Chapter 2

Earlier that same day…

All eyes at the busy bus stop lifted from their newspapers and mobile phone screens, to watch the white sedan pull over to stop, right where their bus should’ve been.

From his back seat, Lincoln Berenger frowned out his passenger-side window at the unintended attention he had drawn. It had been a long time, five years in fact, since he had seen such a large mix of people grouped so closely together.

The driver glanced over his shoulder to his back seat passenger. ‘Well…This is you, mate…’

Lincoln sighed heavily as he released the latch then used a foot to push open the car door.

‘You’ve got your bus pass…?’ the driver said as a question.

Lincoln’s unapproving eyes remained fixed out his open door, at the gathering. ‘Yep,’ he grunted.

‘And you know what bus you’ve gotta catch…?’

Lincoln’s focus remained unchanged. ‘I’m no rocket scientist…’ he began in a flat, disinterested tone. ‘But I’m tipping it will be the one going to Cumberland.’

The driver returned a tolerant grin at his passenger’s sarcasm. ‘Best of luck to you, mate,’ the driver said. He sounded genuine, rather than banal.

Lincoln’s focus shifted to the eyes in the rear-view mirror staring back at him. He returned a muted head nod to the driver, then lifted his black plastic garbage bag of possessions.

He paused to pass a final glance at his unexpected welcoming committee, then slid out of the car.

Symbolically, the slamming of the car door was the full stop on the final chapter of what had been the most difficult time in his unimpressive young-adult life.

There were no loving arms for him to run into when he walked free from the walls that confined him. There was no fanfare, no ceremony, no welcoming party.

All he received when his day finally arrived was a black plastic bag containing his possessions, which had previously gathered dust for the last five years, and a bus pass to his home town of Cumberland.

The door had no sooner slammed shut and his courtesy transport was gone. Lincoln glanced over a shoulder at the departing sedan. The realization began to hit home. He was finally free, but he was all alone.

It was a day he’d counted down to, but now it was here, it was intimidating. For the first time in five years, he was on his own.

No longer would he be provided with three squares a day and a place to sleep. No longer would he be told when to wake up, when to go to bed, when to eat. No longer would his honed survival instincts cause him to watch his back. From here on, he only had to please himself.

As he stood by the road side clutching his black plastic bag, a melting pot of emotion flooded over him. Relief and happiness were strong. But there was also rising anxiety over fitting back in, after being away for so long away. He started to concern over what the future held for him. It was time to find out.

He passed a fleeting glance over the faceless people before him. There were men and women dressed for the office, many of whom sipped on their morning coffees. There were backpack-wearing kids in school uniforms, seated little old ladies who held vice-like grips on their nursed handbags, and many other casually dressed people of various ages, all focused on him.

Lincoln failed to make eye contact as he moved to stand off to the side of the bus stop. Not because he was shy or withdrawn. He did so from an ingrained culture among inmates where wandering eye contact was unwelcomed and often resulted in some form of physical confrontation.

By the time Lincoln had moved to stand on his own, off to the side of the bus shelter, the short-lived interest in him faded. The curious eyes returned to their newspapers and mobile phone screens, or resumed their interrupted conversations.

---

The numbers at the stop dwindled considerably with each departing bus. Lincoln was waiting on his own by the time his bus arrived.

The ninety-minute bus ride from Metropolitan CBD to the regional bayside city of Cumberland provided Lincoln with the opportunity to absorb some of the country scenery he’d almost forgotten existed.

Like a first-time tourist to the area, his focus remained fixed out his seat window. Cattle and sheep grazed in the vast farmland that stretched as far as the eye could see, bordered by distant hills, and framed by clear blue skies.

The longer he was able to enjoy his new found freedom, the more he realized how easy it was to forget something so simple, when you were deprived of it every day.

After a little over ninety minutes of driving, the air brakes hissed and the bus jerked to a stop in Cumberland. Lincoln allowed the five other passengers to disembark first. He wasn’t in a hurry.

Located in Victoria, a southern state of Australia, Cumberland was the largest regional city in the state and boasted a north facing aspect over Horse Head Bay.

Although Cumberland was considered regional, it was anything but a country town with its growing population exceeding 220,000.

As he stepped down from the bus, Lincoln stopped to survey his surrounds. He scanned the deep blue sky as he inhaled a lung full of fresh country air, for the first time in a long while.

The bus terminal was located on the outskirts of the city, near the town’s historic railway station. There had been considerable renovations to it, since he was last there.

Lincoln checked the time on his watch, then swung his black plastic bag over a shoulder and made his way into the down town city area.

The more he walked, the more his anxieties grew. It was over eight years since he last saw his former foster parents. They were the last of many he’d lived with over his younger developing years, and they were the only ones who treated him like a son.

He intentionally never told them his parole date because he knew they would most certainly travel up the road and pick him up. He didn’t want that. He didn’t want to burden them and he certainly didn’t want them to see him walking out from jail.

It had been too long since they last met and they had already done enough by allowing him to stay with them, until he found something more permanent for himself.

As he strolled towards the city, he realized that five years on, the roads in the city area were much busier than what he’d remembered. There were even models of cars he’d never seen before.

In the heart of the city, the footpaths were noticeably more crowded. He became increasingly frustrated at the people who walked in groups up to three and four abreast, taking over the entire width of the footpath, without any consideration for other footpath traffic.

While trying to remember where the city bus stops were located, Lincoln became a little distracted. That was until his focus locked onto five young guys in their late teens, all wearing the same school uniform, who approached him while taking over the entire footpath.

Lincoln stood his ground. He was not moving out of their way. They could make way for him to pass. The line of five guys stopped in front of Lincoln, in what quickly became a standoff.

He passed a critical eye over the line of boys staring back at him. He was looking at himself about ten or so years ago. The one standing in the middle aggressively blurted, ‘the fuck you looking at!’

That phrase hit his ears hard. He’d heard it said all too often over the last five years. But it was said by hardened men, much tougher than these punks. And while he had little choice but to accept these threatening comments while inside, he had no intention of copping it now that he was free, certainly not from these idiots.

‘Get the fuck out of our way…!’ The same guy blurted. He waved a disrespectful hand at Lincoln.

Lincoln glared his contempt at the loud mouth, all the while using all his restraint not to sit him on his arse.

‘What…!’ the loud mouth said with his arms held out to the side. Lincoln held his contemptuous glare.

As a kid growing up in the state system from age seven, bouncing from children’s homes to halfway houses and foster homes, Lincoln learned very early on how to fight to survive.

Street brawls and physical confrontations were the norm for his younger self. He never backed away from a fight and he never would.

The loud mouth feigned a half punch at Lincoln’s head, then laughed. Lincoln never flinched. He’d summed this guy up. It was a rookie mistake.

If he was a brawler, he’d have struck out, not pulled the punch. A brawler would never throw a feigned punch. On the streets, you either land a solid one, or you don’t make threatening moves.

Lincoln dropped his plastic bag. The loud mouth’s eyes watched the bag hit the ground; another rookie mistake.

Like a striking snake, Lincoln’s hand shot out and grabbed the loud mouth’s throat. His hand tightened as he forcefully rammed the loud mouth up against a shop wall. The loud mouth grunted on impact.

The kid gagged and gasped as he feebly tried to loosen Lincoln’s vice-like grip. After years of having to be aware of his immediate surrounds, Lincoln’s peripheral vision noticed one of the loud mouth’s followers rushed at him.

While maintaining his death grip on the loud mouth, Lincoln used his free hand to grab the charging would-be attacker by his face, then forcefully shove him back away.

The kid reeled backwards, two or three steps. His stunned face held a what the fuck just happened expression.

A second hero took his chance and rushed at Lincoln. In a scene reminiscent of a physically, bigger and stronger older brother fighting with his younger brother’s mates, Lincoln forcefully rammed a palm into the approaching guy’s chest, pushing him back along the path he’d travelled.

When he was satisfied there were no more heroes trying to coward punch him, Lincoln grabbed a hand full of the loud mouth’s school hoodie and forcefully threw him to the ground. The guy hit the ground and slid to a stop. His wide eyes stared back up at Lincoln.

He stood over the fallen loud mouth and jabbed a finger at him. But before he blurted out any expletive filled response, his eyes lifted to the crowd gathered to watch the mid-morning altercation.

He was on parole and the last thing he needed was another assault charge to send him back inside. His fierce glare scanned the loud mouth’s followers, each of whom was frozen on the spot.

As his racing pulse calmed, Lincoln scanned the crowd then jabbed a finger at the loud mouth, who still stared up at him from the ground. ‘Wake up to yourself, idiot…’ he said with a glare that would melt stone, then snatched up his plastic bag and continued on his way.

Chapter 3

Lincoln wandered the city area in search of the bus stop so he could catch a bus to his former foster parents’ address in the outer suburb of Highmont.

As he weaved his way through the heavy footpath traffic, his attention was drawn to an approaching male, who held a hand out towards him.

‘Linc….?’ The approaching guy said, as he stopped in his tracks. ‘Lincoln Berenger… I’ll be fucked.’ He extended a hand. ‘Great to see ya, mate.’

Lincoln stopped and shook the extended hand. ‘Hey, Drew. Likewise, mate… You still living here…? I thought you’d moved away.’

The two men moved over to the side of the footpath to continue their discussion.

‘I did. But I moved back here for work.’ He cast an assessing up and down glance at Lincoln. ‘What about you, mate…? I haven’t seen you for years… Whatcha been up to…?’

‘I’ve been…ahh…’ Lincoln rubbed a nervous hand up the back of his closely shaved head. ‘Up in the city for a while, but I’ve just arrived back today…’

‘What are you doin’ with yourself these days…? You working…?’

Linc shook his head. ‘Nah. In between jobs at the mo… What about you…?’

Drew scoffed. ‘You’ll never believe it, mate…’ Drew checked his surrounds. ‘But I joined the boys in blue…’

‘Fuck off… Really?’ That was difficult to hear. His best mate from school, probably his only real mate, had joined forces with those who locked him away for the past five years.

’No shit, mate.Been in for what… little over seven years now. I work here at the Cumberland cop shop. Transferred back here bit over two years ago…’

‘Of all the people… you’d be the last person I ever thought would be a cop…’ Linc shook his head.

‘I know, right…’

‘Good for you though, mate. As long as you’re happy, Bro.’

Drew checked his watch. ‘Oh, shit. I’m late for an appointment… Watcha doing tonight. Got any plans?’

‘Nope. None.’

‘I’ve got the next two days off, so I’d love to catch up for a beer later…You in…?’

‘That’d be great, actually.’

‘OK. How’s 6 o’clock at the Royal…Do you remember where that is?’

‘I’ll find it…’

‘Great. See you then…’ Drew extended his hand and they shook, before parting ways.

---

After thanking his former foster parent, Max, for the lift, Lincoln stepped into the main bar of The Royal Hotel. It was much busier than he’d expected, mostly with people dressed for the office, enjoying some post-work beverages.

While he wasn’t agoraphobic, he didn’t do large crowds well. The last five years taught him that gatherings of this size usually threatened his safety and were unsettling.

The air inside was stuffy and warm, permeated with a strong smell of beer, something he’d been deprived of over the last five years. He took a first-time glance around the crowded bar.

A symphony of sounds welcomed him; laughter and chatter, the side show-like warbling sounds of the gaming machines in the gaming room, footy commentators in the game replays and monotone race callers in the replays from today’s cards, all blared from sports screens spotted around the bar.

Several people were gathered at the main bar, which extended down the left side of the room. Others occupied the tub chairs or stools at the high tables that were spread throughout the crowded room.

Lincoln’s scanning eyes caught the raised hand of Drew, seated at a high table, half way down, against a side wall. Lincoln lifted his head in acknowledgement, then weaved his way over to Drew,

‘What can I get ya, mate…?’ Drew pointed to his beer. ‘I’m havin’ a VB…’

‘Sounds great. Thanks…’

Lincoln leaned on his elbows, people watching, He tried to get used to so many people in such close proximity to him, while Drew did a beer run.

He was quietly enjoying the number of attractive, free-spirited women all in one place. It had been over five years since he’d seen any females, so, while he liked what he saw, he had to be careful not to stare.

‘One schooner of the good stuff…’ Drew said when he returned and placed the beer in front of Lincoln. He lifted his own glass to Lincoln. ‘Cheers, mate… Here’s to old times.’

‘Cheers.’ They clinked glasses. Lincoln sipped on his first, ice cold beer in over five years. He’d forgotten how a good beer tasted. He favourably examined the drink in his hand, while the satisfying, cold liquid slid down his throat. He took another sip. ‘Ah, that’s so good,’ he said, more to himself than Drew.

‘So, mate… Tell me about yourself,’ Drew began. ‘I was thinking after we bumped into each other today… I reckon it’s been about eight or nine years since we last caught up.’

Lincoln sipped his beer. ‘Probably…’ he said, then replaced his glass. ‘We were in our final year at high school. What were we…? Eighteen then so, yeah, it’d be about that… ten years.’ Lincoln shook his head. ‘When you look at it like that… it’s amazing how life happens and your paths drift apart. We went from best mates from grade three, through to year twelve and then nothing for nine or ten years.’ Lincoln took a sip while that sunk in.

‘Yeah, but it’s great to see you again now, buddy,’ Drew said. ‘So do you have a significant other…? Not married…?’ he said. His eyes dropped to Lincoln’s left hand. ‘Divorced, or anything like that…?’

‘Nah, nothing like that…Still single.’

‘Awesome.’ Drew flicked a finger and Lincoln. ‘So, tell me about yourself… What have you been up to all these years…?’ He said, then leaned on his elbows.

Lincoln couldn’t get a read on his friend. Was Drew aware of his five-year stint inside and was being polite not to bring it up…? He’s a cop, so he’d have to know, wouldn’t he…?

Honesty and frankness were always the foundations of their school-long friendship, so he decided to let him know.

‘You knew I was sent away for stretch…?’ Lincoln said as a question.

Drew almost gagged on his beer. His plunging eye brows and tightened expression suggested he did not. ‘You’ve done time…?’

Lincoln nodded. ‘Got out this morning…’

‘Fuck off…’ Drew grinned. His smile slowly faded when he noticed Lincoln’s unchanged gaze. ‘Wait. You’re serious…’ He shook his head. ‘Wow… What did you do…? If… you don’t mind me asking.’

Lincoln took a sip of his beer for courage. ‘You’ve heard the story about the jails being full of innocent people, right…?’

Drew nodded. ‘Ah yes…that ol’ chestnut…’

‘Well, in my case, that was true. I did five years for helping out a defenceless girl and for defending myself.’

‘I’m blown away, mate. I mean, I know you were no angel… shit, neither of us were… but…’ his voice trailed off. ‘What the fuck happened…?’

‘About six or seven years ago I was on the piss… been feeling sorry for myself and had a shitload too many of these.’ He flicked a finger at his glass on the table. ‘You know how it is…’ Drew nodded his understanding.

’It was fairly early in the morning by this time. I was making my way to the cab stand, when I heard a female yelling… You know… “leave me alone…”, “Stop it…”, that sort of shit. The yelling came from one of the side alleys, between the shops.

‘I went over to see if she was OK. There were four of these pricks standing around her groping at her. They were Mid-Eastern I think… She had one of those really short miniskirts on and they were lifting up her skirt. One was shoving his hand up her groin area. Another was groping on her tits… It was fucken unbelievable, mate… I gotta tell ya.’

‘What did you do…?’

‘What any bloke would do. I went over and told them to fucken leave her alone. Well, they turned on me, didn’t they…’

‘Mate, I’ve seen you throw down. You’re one of the best street brawlers I’ve seen,’ Drew said. ‘It wouldn’t have been a fair fight, only four of them on to you.’

Lincoln scoffed. ’They came at me and I caught two of ’em. But the third caught me from behind. Coward punched me. Stunned me a little. I don’t remember feeling it much though. Probably coz I’d had enough liquid pain killers to numb the blow. I just knew I’d been hit. So, I spun around and I hit this arse ‘ole with everything I had. Ol’ glass jaw went down like a sack of shit…

’Trouble was… He hit his head on the ground and cracked his fucken skull. Was on life support for three weeks before they turned it off. The fucker went and died, didn’t he…

‘I ended up getting eight years under that new coward punch law…Do you believe that…? I got coward punched and retaliated and I got jailed… I was paroled this morning after five years in fucken hell, mate. I gotta tell ya.’

Drew held a blank, open mouthed expression at Lincoln. His eyes brows plunged. ’I don’t understand it… You were defending that girl. Her evidence would have proven self-defence and defence of her.’

‘Yeah, you’re right…it would’ve…if we could’ve found her… She did a runner when I interrupted, never to be found again. My lawyer couldn’t locate her and when it went to trial, the three mates of the sleazebag I hit, all gave evidence that I just walked up and hit him for no apparent reason. We couldn’t disprove it and I went down for coward punch manslaughter…’ Lincoln’s jaw tightened. ‘I’ve never king hit anyone in my life, mate…’

‘I know, Bro… I know you and that is not you…’ Drew shook his head in disbelief. ‘So, you’ve just done five years inside… and you only got out this morning…?’ Drew said as a question. Lincoln nodded as he sipped on his beer. ‘Mate, I’m so sorry… You should’ve been celebrated as a fucken hero… not locked up for it. Where the fuck was this chick you saved?’

Lincoln extended his arms to the side. ‘Evaporated, apparently. My lawyer said if we could find her… I’d be right. We never did… and the rest is history.’ He took a remorseful sip.

‘Mate… these beers are on me… I’m not having you pay for anything, after hearing that…’

Lincoln waved away Drew’s offer. ’Max slung me a hunji, so I’m good for now…’

‘Max…?’ Drew frowned. ‘Oh, d’ya mean Max Olsen… your former foster dad…?’

‘Yeah. I’m staying with them at the moment. But I’ll be OK. The prison holds onto money from ya pay for the work you do… they call it compulsory savings. They gave it to me today when I got out…So it’s all good, Bro…’

‘Bullshit…’ Drew said. He lifted their empty glasses. ‘I got ya mate…’ He made his way to the bar.

Drew returned a short time later with their refills. ‘So, you’re back with Max and Valerie… How are they…?’

‘They’re good to me, mate. I couldn’t get parole unless I had an address to go to, so I asked them if I could give their address to the parole board. They not only agreed… but they insisted I actually stayed with them, until I found my own place…’

‘So, they picked you up from jail…?’ Drew said as a question.

‘Nah. Nah.’ Lincoln firmly shook his head. ‘Nah. I didn’t want them to see me walking out of the lock up. Didn’t feel right after all they’ve done for me…’

‘I understand… So, how’d ya get down here from jail…? Train…?’

‘Nah. When ya don’t have anyone collecting you, they give you a bus pass and a ride to the nearest bus stop.’

’Generous of ‘em…’ Drew said. ’What about all your possessions. clothes and things from your apartment? Where are they?

Lincoln scoffed. ‘Yeah, right… Gone. Given away to charity. I don’t know. I couldn’t keep payin’ my rent from inside, so I lost the place I was stayin’ in and because I couldn’t contact anyone, they emptied the place of all my possessions when the new tenants moved in. So I’ve basically only got this…’ he said indicating the clothes he wore.’

Drew laughed. He flicked a finger at Lincoln. ‘Yeah, no offence, but we’ve moved on from the ol’ red flannelette shirt over the dark t-shirt look you’re rockin’ there, mate.’

Lincoln turned up his palms. ‘It is what it is, until I can get some more coin to buy some new gear.’

‘It’s cool, Bro. I got cha… I’ve got some stuff you can borrow….’

‘So, was it Max who gave you lift in here, then…?’

‘Yeah, it was actually…’

‘You should get around Uber, mate. They’re much better than a taxi… and cheaper too.’

’Don’t know much about Uber, Bro.Wasn’t around when I went inside.’

‘It’s simple… You just download the app… Add your credit card and—’ Drew cut himself off when he noticed Lincoln’s puzzled expression. ‘You got data on your phone…?’

‘Yeah… it’s pre-paid. Part of the release assistance, they gave me a $60 pre-paid voucher. The bloke in the phone shop set it up for me today…’

Drew held out his hand. ‘Hand me your phone…I’ll set it up for you, if you want.’

Lincoln slid his phone across the table. Drew lifted it, then slid it back. ‘Ya need to unlock it first…’

Lincoln unlocked the phone and slid it back to Drew. While the Uber app downloaded, Drew asked, ‘do you have a credit card?’

‘Thanks to Max and Valerie, I do… They were across it all when I was sentenced. They kept my card active by using it to pay some of their bills… you know… they deposited money into the account then used the credit card to pay a bill, or something…’

‘That’s very forward thinking of them…’

‘I think they’ve had other foster kids who had done time…’

‘Here we go. The app’s loaded. Got your credit card there…?’ Lincoln slid the card to Drew. Once it was scanned and accepted, Drew passed the phone back to Lincoln. ‘You’re all set, mate. Just use the app to order an Uber… It’s straight forward and the fare is charged to your credit card. You don’t pay the driver anything…’

‘Cool. Thanks.’

Chapter 4

The beers flowed freely as the two mates reacquainted themselves well into the night. A hamburger and fries from the bistro provided the necessary sustenance they needed for their prolonged session.

Unfortunately for Lincoln, it had been a long time since he’d enjoyed a beer, so he was proving to be a bit of a lightweight.

Drew returned from his next beer run with his hands full of shots. He carefully placed them on the table, then moved two over to Lincoln.

Lincoln’s bloodshot eyes fell onto the shot glasses. His smiling eyes lifted back to Drew. ‘Shit mate…’ he said. His speech was slurred. ‘I’m struggling on the beers… What are these… fucken Tequilas…?’

‘Tequila. Yep… Come on, Bro…’ Drew said. He lifted his shot glass and held it out to his friend. ‘Here’s to your freedom,’ he said. With a flick of his head, he drained his glass.

Lincoln did the same, followed by a beer chaser. He lifted his second glass and held it up to Drew.‘Here’s to good mates. Worth their fucken weight in gold,’ he said, then drained the glass. ‘I gotta take a piss, mate,’ Lincoln mumbled.

‘OK. I’ll grab us some more shots…’

‘Hang on…’ Lincoln removed a folded $100 note from his shirt pocket. ‘Here… Let me get these…’ He held the note to Drew.

Drew lifted up a hand. ‘I told you, Bro… I got you.’ He waved a hand in the general direction of the back wall. ‘Go take ya piss,’ he said.

By the time Lincoln stumbled his way, through the crowded bar, back to their table, Drew was waiting with the next round of shots and beers.

‘Mate, you win… I can’t keep this pace up,’ Lincoln said. His words were almost indiscernible. ‘You know I haven’t had a drink for over five years, right?’ He slid onto his stool.

‘It’s all good, Bro…’ Drew said. ‘Hey… I noticed you’ve got a mean limp there, mate… What happened…? Sporting injury…?’

‘The lesser of two evils…’

Drew’s face tightened. ‘I don’t follow.’

Lincoln lifted his fresh beer and took a sip. He returned it to the table and leaned on his elbows. ‘I don’t know what was worse…the break… or the butcher who operated on it.’

‘But what happened?’

He jabbed a thumb over his shoulder. ’I crossed the wrong people in there… To teach me a lesson, they got a gang of ‘em to hold me down. They placed something under my foot, to support above and below my ankle… you know… leaving my ankle unsupported, while another jumped from the bed, onto my ankle. Smashed it, clean in two. I think I passed out from the pain.’

Drew cringed at the mental image. ‘What the fuck did you do to deserve that…?’

‘It was either suck his dick, or that…’ Lincoln said. He gestured to his foot. ‘I took that…’

‘Unbelievable. Ya hear about these types of stories, but…’ Drew’s words trailed off.

‘The quack who operated on me just fused my ankle. Quick op…In and out. No offer of any rehab. So now I have an ankle that doesn’t bend… It’s permanently locked at ninety degrees. I walk like an old prick now…’

---

Lincoln leaned on his elbows for support and had almost nodded off when Drew returned from a toilet break. He nudged Lincoln as he walked passed. ‘Come on, Bro… Fire up.’

He watched Drew slide back onto his stool, through eyes that had reduced to narrow slits, at best.

Drew lifted his chin towards the back of the bar area. ‘Hey… You’ll never guess who I just saw back there,’ he said.

Lincoln remained leaning on his elbows. His stare was vague. ‘Who…?’ He said, while caring little.

‘D’ya remember that bloke from the half-way house back when you were a kid…?’

Lincoln sat upright and glared at Drew. The narrow slits were no more. He knew exactly who this bloke was.

At age seven, Lincoln lost both his parents in a car accident. There was no family to take him in, so he became a Ward of the State.

As a Ward of the State he lived in a half-way house, which was essentially a children’s home for troubled youths, and for those awaiting selection for foster care.At any one time, there would be around ten other kids living there with him.

His first experience at being fostered out was difficult for him. He was only eight and didn’t fully understand what was happening to him. These people weren’t his parents and he struggled to accept that. They had no right to tell him what to do. He rebelled, until such time as they returned him back into the system.

Over the years that followed, Lincoln went through four caring foster parents this way, while growing up. Each time they returned him for being too hard to handle. Each time he went straight back into a half-way house.

The social worker supervisor of the half-way house was a man by the name of Walter McCormack. He was in his forties when Lincoln was there and ruled with an iron fist.

He loved his power, and as Lincoln later found out the hard way, McCormack also loved young boys. He used to call Lincoln “Pretty Boy”.

From a few years after Lincoln arrived in the half-way house, until the day he was fostered out to Max and Valerie Olsen, McCormack repeatedly sexually and mentally abused him.

Unfortunately for Lincoln, he was a bit of a lad. Put plainly, he was a troublemaker. He rebelled against any form of discipline. He was the nightmare foster child no-one wanted. This meant he spent more time in the half-way house with McCormack.

As Lincoln grew, all he wanted, was to find the right foster parents, so he’d become a family again. McCormack made Lincoln believe that if he said anything to anyone about what was happening to him, he’d make sure Lincoln would never be fostered out.

This intimidated the young Lincoln. More than ever, he wanted to leave that place. He hated what McCormack did to him, while he lived there, so, he did what he was told in the hope that one day, he would leave.

As he aged, he tried once to report his abuser to the house manager, however that fell on deaf ears.

Consequently, the abuse continued until, at thirteen years of age, where he was too old for McCormack’s interest, Lincoln was fostered out to the Olsens. So yeah, Lincoln remembered that bloke from the half-way house.

‘Are you sayin’ that fucken’ rock spider is in here…?’

‘Yep. He’s down there at the bar… Fucken scum…’ Drew sneered his contempt. ‘I remember we were in high school when you told me about what he did to you, Bro… I couldn’t believe it. Still can’t…’

Lincoln glanced over his shoulder and scanned the bar area. ‘Which one…’ Lincoln blurted. He slid off his stool to face the back wall area. ‘Which fucken’ one is he…?’ His voice firmed.

‘Down the end… In the brown jumper… Leaning on his elbows.’

‘Fuck… He’s nothin’ but a fucken’ old paedophile now,’ Lincoln said. Lincoln lifted his shot glass and emptied it. He slammed it down then repeated the action with the second. He slammed down the glass then stormed off toward McCormack.

‘Linc…’ Drew shouted. ‘Linc. Wait up mate. Don’t do anything stupid…’ Drew quickly followed.

The thin old man leaning on the bar, in appearance at least, was nothing like the evil monster Lincoln remembered. Thinning, unkempt salt and pepper grey hair replaced the tidy, thick brown comb over.

The once trimmed brown beard was now a shabby grey matted mess. Lines and wrinkles filled what was now a weathered face.

McCormack leaned his elbows on the bar. He held a fixed stare at the rear bar wall when Lincoln rushed over.

Lincoln never broke stride. He rushed straight up to McCormack and with two hands, forcefully shoved McCormack off his bar stool. ‘You fucken’ dog…!’ Lincoln blurted. ‘You fucken’ ruined my life…’

McCormack crashed heavily to the floor. By the time he looked up, Lincoln stood over him with clenched fists and gritted teeth.

The old man leaned back on his hands. A perverted smile exposed his crooked yellow teeth. ‘Well, I’ll be…’ McCormack said. ‘Look at you… You’ve grown from a pretty boy into a handsome man, haven’t you…?’

Those words hit Lincoln’s ears hard, then bounced around in his head. He hated that name. And that smug grin still haunted him.

Even with the passage of time and the obvious appearance changes, there was no doubt he was still the same McCormack grinning back up at him from the floor.

He was still an arrogant, smug son-of-a-bitch. He clearly held no remorse for taking away Lincoln’s childhood innocence.

McCormack’s words and arrogance were the accelerant to Lincoln’s raging fire. ‘You fucken dog…’ Lincoln lifted his leg to drive a heel into McCormack’s head.

McCormack lifted his hands and turned his eyes away. Before Lincoln could deliver the skull crushing kick, Drew dragged him away.

Drew stood in front of Lincoln and placed a hand on each shoulder. ‘Mate…’ He said. He lightly shook Lincoln. ‘Mate…’ he repeated until Lincoln’s eyes eventually met his. Drew checked over his shoulders, then said firmly, ‘you’re on parole, mate… He’s not worth ending up back inside for. Think about it.’

The copious volume of alcohol messed with Lincoln’s emotions. Tears welled in his drunken eyes. He jabbed a finger at McCormack, who was in the process of being assisted up from the floor. ‘Do you know what he did to me…?’ Lincoln said, albeit rhetorically. He wiped an escaping tear with a finger, then jabbed the same finger at McCormack. ‘Do you know what that fucken dog did to me…? I was just a kid…!’ He yelled over Drew’s shoulder to McCormack. ‘I was just a fucken innocent kid…!’ He yelled.

‘I know buddy… I know… But he’s not worth it. Ya hear me… He’s not worth it.’

While Drew attempted to calm Lincoln, the bar’s one hundred and thirty kilo, no neck, Islander bouncer, approached and firmly informed Drew and Lincoln, they had to leave.

Lincoln broke away from Drew’s light hold and rushed at McCormack. He wanted to get at least one good one in, before he left. Both Drew and the bouncer grabbed Lincoln and dragged him back.

Drew held up a hand to the bouncer. ’I got him, mate. It’s OK.I’ll get him home.’

The bouncer was a short, powerfully built man. He was well known for his strength and physicality when handling troublesome patrons. Consequently, his was a reputation that kept trouble from the venue.

With the Royal being the favoured watering hole of the local police, Drew was well known to all, including the bouncer. This gave him far more leeway than would’ve been afforded to any other trouble makers in the bar.

The bouncer flicked a hand towards the street. ‘Just get him out of here, mate. Now.’

‘We’re going, Bro.’ Drew guided Lincoln away. ‘Thanks…’ Drew said over a shoulder to the bouncer.

Chapter 5

Drew supported Lincoln as they stepped out onto the street. He leaned Lincoln back against the hotel wall, while he ordered an Uber.

Lincoln’s eyes were glazed and bloodshot. His brain was numb, but it was hard to discern if it was from the alcohol swimming through his body, or from seeing McCormack again.

To a younger Lincoln, McCormack was the dreaded boogey man. He was the scary, creepy dark shadowed outline standing in the corner of his room at night.

Over time, as Lincoln grew and matured, he formed layers of new memories over the top of those horrid memories that fuelled his nightmares.

He’d done well over the years to suppress them, as best he could, but what he couldn’t control was when an unexpected trigger caused his recalls to flood back.

And tonight, those dreaded memories were recalled when Lincoln saw his tormentor. Only McCormack was no longer the boogey man Lincoln feared. He saw him for what he was; a child molesting paedophile who took away his innocence. He hated him for that.

Drew slid his mobile phone into his jeans pocket. ‘You OK, Bro…?’ He asked.

‘You shoulda let me fix him up, Brah…’

‘I wanted with every part of being to let you at him, so you could tear him up… But I’d be failing you, if I did that, Bro. You’re on parole and you most certainly would’ve ended up straight back inside… So… I did what I did for you, mate.’

Lincoln cupped his lowered forehead. Even in his drunken stupor, he had enough awareness to know his friend was right. Plus, he also knew that if he’d unleashed on McCormack back in the bar, all those horrid memories would’ve driven him and he probably wouldn’t be able to stop.

‘You’re right.’ Lincoln reluctantly nodded his acceptance. ‘You’re one hundred percent right. Thanks, mate. I appreciate that. I probably would’ve killed him, if I’d have started…’

‘I have no doubt…’ Drew said. He checked his phone. ’Listen, our Uber’s only a couple of minutes away… I’m not letting you go home to the Olsen’s like this, mate.Not on your first night out. They’d wonder what the fuck they’ve got themselves into. You’re too shit faced, Bro. I only have a one-bedroomer… but I’ve got a very comfy couch. So, you’re staying on that tonight…’

Drew poured Lincoln into the back seat of their Uber, then ran around to the driver’s side, rear passenger door and climbed in. The female driver, a round-faced woman in her late fifties, welcomed them.

The Uber ride was only around ten, or so minutes, but it was too far to walk in their current state.

‘Where you living these days, mate,’ Lincoln said.

‘Do ya remember where McCormack lives…?’ Drew said.

‘Aha…’

‘I’m about two streets away from his…’

‘Wait. You said “lives…” Does he still live in the same place…? I thought you said he got divorced.’

’He did. It was well known around the place that his wife left him. Obviously, he kept the house.’

A sinister smile emerged out the side of Lincoln’s face. ’Hey… Ya remember when we were kids, when I’d crash over at yours on weekends… we used to sneak around to McCormack’s and slash his car tyres…all four of ‘em…’ Lincoln chuckled.

Drew’s eyes flicked to the female Uber driver. He waved a motioning hand to Lincoln to keep his voice down.

’He’d get ’em replaced and we’d go around and slash ‘em again…’ Lincoln continued, probably much louder than he should’ve. His chuckle that followed was evil. ‘And…’ Lincoln held up a finger… ‘Don’t forget the rocks through his windows…’ He chuckled.

Drew checked the driver’s focus in the rear vision mirror. ‘And the sugar in his petrol tank…’ He said in a quiet voice.

‘He never knew it was us…’ Lincoln said. His chuckle was hearty. He needed the distraction.

The Uber’s headlights shone down the long driveway, when it pulled into Drew’s address. The beams of light illuminated the light rain that had started falling.

Drew was last out. He closed the car door, then gestured down the long drive way. ‘I’m the last one down the back,’ he said,

The departing Uber’s headlights returned the drive to complete darkness.

All three units were down the right side of the long driveway. Lincoln passed a curious eye over the first two units, as he staggered by. Each one was single storey with a one car garage at the side.

They were all in total darkness, which was not unusual, given the early hour of the morning, on a school night.

Drew’s unit was identical to the other two. He opened his front door and flicked on a light. He toed off his shoes and gestured towards his lounge room. ‘Make yourself at home, Bro.’ Drew said, then headed for his kitchen.

Lincoln leaned against a wall while he toed off his shoes, then moved to the lounge room. He fell back into the black leather three-seater couch. ‘This is pretty upmarket…’ he said, as he rubbed a favourable hand over the soft leather.

The unit was compact. A narrow kitchen with barely enough room to fit a free-standing refrigerator was directly opposite the front door.

To the left was a small lounge room. The limited floor space was dominated by the black three-seater couch and an arm chair, positioned in front of a sixty-inch TV on a low cabinet.

‘I’m glad you like it…’ Drew began. ‘Coz that’s your bed for tonight, mate…’ Drew said. He held two stubbies of VB when he entered the lounge room. ‘Night cap…?’ he asked, rhetorically. Lincoln accepted one, then Drew slid into the arm chair opposite. Drew lifted his beer. ‘Cheers…’

‘Cheers.’

Drew rummaged around in his shirt pocket and removed two spliffs and a lighter. He held them out to Lincoln in his open palm. ‘You still do these…?’ he said as a question.

‘Maaaate… Does the Pope shit in the woods…?’

Drew frowned heavily. ‘What…?’ Drew chuckled at Lincoln’s drunken mixed metaphor. ‘That’s not right, ya pissed dickhead. It’s, does a bear shi—.’ He cut himself off as he waved it away.

‘Doesn’t matter.’ Lincoln was too focussed on sparking up his Jozza. ‘And you know what else they say…?’ Drew began. He didn’t wait for Lincoln to respond. ‘Is the bear a catholic,’ he said, then laughed at his own intentional mixed metaphor. Lincoln was too busy keeping his jozza alight.

Drew sparked up his joint and took a long first hit. ‘I usually have one of these each night, before I go to bed…’ He said, then exhaled heavily. ‘It helps me sleep…’

‘I hear ya…’ Lincoln said. ‘These things are the best for helping ya get to sleep…’

‘Hey…’ Drew said. ‘While I think of it… In the morning you can borrow some of my t-shirts and shirts and stuff, until you get on your feet.’

Lincoln inhaled. ‘Appreciate it. Thanks, Bro…’ he said. Then let it out.

A collection of six empty beer stubbies sat on the coffee table by the time they’d finished their night caps.

It had been a big first night out for Lincoln. It was apparent he’d well and truly over shot his limit. Lincoln’s head had lolled back. His eyes were shut and his mouth had fallen open.

Drew collected some spare blankets and a pillow and dropped them beside Lincoln. ‘Hey, Bro…’ Drew said. He used his foot to push Lincoln’s leg. ‘Bro…’

Lincoln’s eyes slowly opened. He dragged himself back up. ‘I’ll get some water, if I can, Bro…’ He licked his dry lips.

Drew flicked a finger at the kitchen. ‘Kitchen’s right there, mate…’ he said. ‘Help yourself… And the pisser’s down the hall there…I’m tipping you’ll be needed that later…’

Lincoln pushed himself up from his couch. ‘I’m needed it now, Bro…’

Drew gestured to the blankets on the couch, in case Lincoln missed them. ‘There’s some blankets and a pillow for ya mate…’ He said. ‘I’ll leave you to it…OK? Turn off the light when you’re finished,’ Drew said. ‘I’m off to bed.’

Chapter 6

While Drew and Lincoln slept off their late-night bender, the curious residents of leafy Fleming Street, in the Cumberland suburb of Bayside, had gathered in the street and around the top of their driveways, to monitor the early morning activity at number 44.

The affluent suburb, located close to the city, was home to many and varied professionals and successful business people, many of whom were now retired.

Three police vehicles were parked in the street. A cop stood guard at a crime scene tape stretched across the property’s driveway entrance. Police wearing pale blue, head to foot, full PPE clothing, arrived and disappeared inside the property.

While the neighbours watched on, Reed Campbell pulled his car into the kerb, behind the three marked police vehicles already parked outside 44 Fleming Street.

He drained the last of his tepid morning coffee, then took a first-time scan of the neat double fronted, white weatherboard California Bungalow, with the waist-high white picket fence.

Compared to most of the 1930 era homes in this suburb, number 44 was a larger block. This allowed for a concrete drive down the side of the house to a rear, single car garage, with a well-weathered timber, side by side door.

A red Mazda CX-5 was parked at the front of the driveway.

Reed dropped the empty cup into centre console cup holder, scooped up his folder from the front passenger seat and slid out of his vehicle. He approached the uniform cop standing sentry at the driveway entrance.

‘Detective…’ the young cop said. He lifted the crime scene tape.

‘Morning,’ Reed said. He ducked under the tape.

Detective Sergeant Reed Campbell was a career cop of thirty-five years, twenty-five of which had been spent as a detective. While many of his colleagues were grey-haired, heavily receding, or bald, Reed still wore a thick head of dark hair, with a side part comb over.

Standing only five feet, six inches with a slight build, Reed was a small man physically, but he was a giant in the field of solving difficult crimes.

Reed regarded the red Mazda CX-5 parked nose in, across the drive at a forty-five-degree angle, with its driver’s door ajar. He jotted down the vehicle’s registration number in his folder.

‘Hey, Reed…’ A voice called.

Reed’s focus shifted to the voice. He lifted his chin to the uniform cop who approached from the direction of the premises front door.

‘Johnno…’ Reed said. He gestured to the Mazda. ‘Was that how the driver’s door was found?’

‘Yep…’ Johnno said. ‘Nothing has been touched.’

‘Pissed, or in one hell of a hurry, I’d say,’ Reed said, as he continued to regard the car.

‘Who knows. Maybe both…’ Johno said.

‘Have we confirmed the victim’s ID?’

‘Nothing’s confirmed… but there’s no doubt who it is…’ Johnno checked his notes. ‘The victim is certainly Walter McCormack. According to a witness, he’s in his late sixties and lived alone, apparently.’

‘Who called it in…?’

The cop scanned the street of onlookers. He gestured towards the street. ‘That older guy over there in the grey track pants and blue hoodie. He’s also the one who found him.’ The cop checked his notes. ‘Ahh…His name is… Richard Moore, lives across the street at number forty-one.’ He indicated the witness’s address. ‘We’ve got him isolated until you chat to him…’

‘Anything known about him…?’

‘No. All good. No record at all.’

‘What’s he going to tell me…?’

‘Says he noticed the car parked across the drive…’ Johnno gestured to the car with his pen. ‘And the driver’s door open… Says he went to check his neighbour was OK. When he got to the front door, he says it was open…’

‘Open…? Open unlocked, or open ajar…?’

‘He said it was ajar… so he called out to his neighbour. When there was no response, he went in and found his neighbour dead in the lounge room.’

Reed rubbed a contemplative hand across his chin. ‘Did he touch anything…?’

‘Not sure. We left that up to you and the CSOs… We just locked the place down as a crime scene and called you in…’

‘OK. We’ll need elimination prints from him at some time.’

‘I’ll arrange that once you’re finished with him.’

‘OK.’ Reed flicked a finger towards the house. ‘Let’s see what we’ve got in here…’ As he strolled along the path to the front door, he scanned the ground, garden bed and pathway.

His attention was drawn to partial shoeprints on the front concrete path, in what appeared to be blood.

The shoeprints led from the front door to the drive, but became less visible, the further they were from the front door.

Reed glanced back at the white runners the witness wore. He jabbed a thumb towards the street. ‘We’re gunna need his runners…’ Reed said to Johnno. ‘Grab an evidence bag and seal them in it for me, will ya…’

While the cop did as requested, Reed snapped on a pair of latex gloves and slipped on a pair of shoe covers, prior to entering the front porch.

Reed noticed McCormack had a doorbell mounted on the side wall. He examined the doorbell more closely. It was one of those security camera doorbells. Things are looking up.

He closely examined the front door for any sign of forced entry. There was none. He stepped into a small entry foyer about 1.5 metres square, carefully avoiding the blood-stained shoeprints on the polished timber floorboards.

A door directly opposite the front door led to the main bedroom. The door to his left led into the front lounge room.

Reed entered the bedroom first. He scanned the room. A stale body odour greeted him from the piles of dirty laundry that littered the floorspace.

The light in the room was off and the blinds were open. There was an unmade queen bed against the opposite wall, with a bedside table and lamp on one side only.

An old fashioned, free-standing timber double-door wardrobe, with three drawers beneath, stood in the corner.

He checked inside the wardrobe. What clothes there were, hung on one side only. He opened the three drawers located under the wardrobe doors.

Only one drawer contained jocks, socks and some t-shirts. The other drawers were empty, presumably due to the laundry piled up on the floor.

Reed made his way to the lounge room. He paused before entering to take a first-time scan of the room. Two PPE clad crime scene officers worked in the room.

Even with the front door open, the air inside the lounge was musty and heavy, consistent with a room that lacked regular fresh air. The odour of the congealed blood was dominant.

Twelve-foot ceilings with large ornate cornices gave the impression the small room was larger than its actual size. The cream-coloured walls were devoid of paintings or pictures and lacked personality.

The dull pendant light hanging from the large ornate, ceiling rose, was on.

A morning talk show blared at elevated decibels from the fifty-centimetre television, sitting on a corner TV unit.

‘Can we turn that noise off…?’ Reed said to anyone listening.

A CSO quickly searched for, and located the remote, then jabbed it at the TV. The noise went silent.

The only seating in the room was one lounge chair, positioned in front of the TV. The victim’s body was slumped on the chair. Five empty beer stubbies were on the floor, beside the lounge chair.

Reed’s eyes followed the trail of shoeprints from the chair to the front door. There were clearly two sets of different shoeprints. One set had to belong to the witness.

When Reed approached the chair to examine the victim, his attention was drawn to the word “PEDOPHILE” written in blood on the side wall.

This was significant to him. It suggested the murder was not random and the victim likely knew his, or her killer.

His focus shifted to the victim. He had unkempt grey hair and a grey bushy beard. His head slumped forward. His clothing was heavily blood-soaked, as was the tea towel on the victim’s lap.

Reed closely examined the victim’s head. ‘Is that vomit in his beard…?’ he asked anyone listening.

One of the CSO’s responded. ‘Looks like it. There’s some more residue under his chin, at the top of the shirt.’

Reed checked the victim’s hands and forearms. ‘No defensive wounds…’ Reed said, more to himself, than the CSO.

While Reed examined the victim, the lead crime scene officer approached. He held a digital camera. ‘Classic case of overkill, Reed…’ The CSO said. He held up the camera’s viewing screen to Reed.

Reed watched on while the CSO scrolled through a series of photos of the victim’s wounds. ‘Look at this…’ he said. ‘I counted thirty-eight stab wounds to his chest… and that’s not counting any that may have entered through an existing wound…’

Reed gestured to the message on the wall. ‘That message, and the number of stab wounds, suggests this was a revenge kill,’ he said. ‘Interesting that the U.S. spelling of “PEDOPHILE” was used,’ Reed said, thinking out aloud. He gestured to the blood-soaked tea towel on the vic’s lap. ’I’m tipping the perp used that tea towel to write that on the wall.’

The CSO nodded his agreement. ‘We’ll bag all that now you’ve seen it. We’re finished in here with the photos,’ The CSO said. ‘So, do you think this vic was a kiddy fiddler…?’

A few moments passed while Reed regarded the victim. ‘Possibly…’ He said. ’He jabbed a thumb at the word on the wall. ‘If there’s any truth in that.’

‘It’ll all come out in time, I suppose.’

‘It will. What about that doorbell…’ Reed jabbed his pen over his shoulder. ‘Does that have a security camera in it…?’

‘Saw that. Smithy here…’ He nodded his head towards his colleague. ‘Says it’s one of those cameras that record to a cloud account, not a hard-drive here in a cupboard somewhere. We don’t know his account login details, though.’

Smithy, the other CSO in the room said, ‘my ol’ man’s got the same doorbell camera. The company’s owned by Amazon. If it’s an active account, he’d be able to access stored footage from his on-line account, or from an app on his phone.’

‘Please tell me it’s working…’ Reed said to the Lead CSO.

‘I have no idea.’

‘You’ve got all the details of the camera…?’ He said to the Lead CSO.

‘Sure have.’

Reeds eyes fell to the numerous shoeprints frozen in the congealed blood that had pooled on the timber floor.

‘We’ve photographed all the shoeprints…’ The CSO said.

Reed followed the only set of shoeprints that led into the kitchen. The central fluorescent light was on when he entered. He paused to scan the kitchen.

‘Was this light on when you arrived…?’ Reed said to the CSO, who’d followed him into the kitchen.

‘Yep. Everything is how it was found.’

His faced screwed up at the mess before him. A stale beer odour was the first of many unpleasant smells that welcomed him. ‘When was the last time this place was cleaned…?’ he mumbled to no-one.

The rear of the circa 1930’s house had been renovated with a modern extension at the back. The house combined old at the front and new to the rear.

The kitchen was part of the renovation and included high-end stainless-steel appliances and stone bench tops. A small four-seater timber dining table sat off to the side of the kitchen.

Food-stained plates, cups and cutlery were piled high in the sink and had spilled over onto the sink’s side drainer. Judging by the dried food particles, Reed suspected they’d been there for weeks, or longer.

Rows of empty beer bottles, numbering in excess of thirty, and three empty pizza boxes, cluttered the sizeable stone bench space.

Reed wiped a finger across the top of the free-standing fridge, leaving a trail in the grease and dust. He held up an indicative dirty fingertip to the CSO, as he shook a disapproving head.

He checked inside the stainless-steel fridge. Except for an ice tray, the top mount freezer was empty. He shook a slow head when he saw four stubbies of beer and a 500gm margarine container were the only contents. ‘Did he even live here…?’ Reed questioned, as he closed the fridge door. ‘What did he eat…apart from pizza…?’

He opened the pantry door to reveal a semi-walk-in pantry. Of the five shelves available, only one shelf stored half a dozen tins, which included baked beans, spaghetti and soup.

The kitchen opened onto a modern living room, with six panel sliding glass doors leading out to the rear yard. There was no furniture in the rear living room.

From the kitchen, Reed glanced out through the rear glass doors, to the knee-high weeds that covered the yard, where a lawn once would’ve flourished.

Reed’s eyes dropped to the floor. The shoeprints stopped at the kitchen bench, then returned to the lounge.

‘The shoe prints stop here. This general bench area would be where he grabbed that tea towel…’ Reed said. ‘Has the murder weapon been located…?’

‘Not yet.’

Reed gestured to the knife block on the bench, partially obscured behind a gathering of empty beer bottles. ‘That’ll probably be where the murder weapon came from. There’s one missing.’

‘Yeah, we’ve got photos of that…’

Reed returned to the lounge room. He flicked open his folder and sketched a mud map of the scene, focussing on the entry, lounge and kitchen.

‘Do you think he was asleep when he was attacked?’ The CSO asked.

Reed rubbed a contemplative hand across his chin. ‘Given the vomit on himself… That’s the most likely scenario…’ Reed said. ‘It appears he fell asleep, probably after over indulging on the piss… and chucked on himself, while he was asleep,’ Reed said. ‘So… he must’ve been attacked while he slept…or he was awakened shortly before he was attacked…’

‘Could he have known his killer?’ The CSO asked.

‘Could he have known his killer…?’ Reed repeated the CSO’s question. He jabbed a thumb at the message on the wall. ’Judging by that message and the overkill… I’d say it’s highly probable it was a targeted murder, quite likely revenge motivated, rather than random…’

Reed continued his inspection of the remainder of the house; the two bedrooms, the bathroom and rear living area. When he returned the CSO updated him.

‘We’ve examined the rest of the house but there’s nothing located, except dust. The prints in the kitchen here belong to the vic,’ the CSO said.

‘No surprises there. What about a mobile phone…?’

‘Yep…’ The CSO gestured to the collection of evidence bags on the kitchen table. ‘It’s an Apple iPhone, but it’s locked.’

‘Where was it located?’

‘In his pants pocket. I’ll get everything to you, ASAP.’

‘Cheers. I’m gunna go and speak to this witness.’

Chapter 7

‘Mr Moore…’ Reed said when he approached the witness. He extended his hand. ‘Reed Campbell. Detective Sergeant from Cumberland Police.’ The witness shook Reed’s hand. ‘I understand you discovered the victim and called it in…’

The witness was a slim built man in his seventies, with short, thinning grey hair. ‘That’s right.’

Reed’s eyes dropped to the thongs the witness now wore. ‘Apologies for commandeering your runners, but we needed to be able to eliminate your shoe prints from the ones found at scene.’

‘I understand.’

Reed opened his folder and recorded the witness’s details. Which house is yours?’ Reed asked

The witness indicated a house at number Forty-one Fleming Street. ‘Lived there for forty-three years.’

Reed scribbled down his notes. ‘I’d like you to run me through what happened this morning, up to when you called the police.’

The witness adjusted the distribution of weight on his feet. ‘Um…’ He rubbed a nervous hand up the back of his neck.

‘Take your time…’

‘I came out to get my morning paper from the front yard and I saw Walter’s car parked like that…’ He gestured to the car. ‘With the driver’s door open. It wasn’t as much the way it was parked…Walter often left it like that… But the door left open was a worry.’

‘You called him Walter. Do you know his surname?’

‘McCormack.’

‘How well did you know Mr McCormack?’

‘Known him as a neighbour since he and his ex-wife moved in around 1982. He and his wife separated about five years ago.’

‘He lived on his own…?’

‘He did.’

‘OK. What happened next?’

‘I went over to see if he was OK… When I got to the front door I saw it was wide open. The light and TV were on. I called out his name a few times and when he didn’t answer I went in. I only went in because I wanted to check he was OK. I don’t usually make a habit of letting myself into people’s homes…’

‘That’s OK. What happened next?’

The witness’s head lolled to the side. ‘I saw him sitting there…It was horrible. He was covered in blood. There was blood all over the floor. I panicked and quickly got out of there. I ran home and called triple zero.’

Reed nodded his understanding, as he scribbled down notes. ‘Did you touch the front door or anything inside…?’

‘No. Not that I can remember.’

‘Did you hear, or see anything out of the ordinary last night, or early this morning?’

‘No.’ He scoffed. ‘We often hear Walter coming home late at night, on most days. After his wife left him, he went downhill pretty fast.’ The witness checked over his shoulders. ‘He hit the drink pretty hard,’ he said in a quieter tone. ‘It is pretty well known around here that he spent his afternoons and nights down at the Royal Hotel in the city…’

‘The Royal…’ Reed repeated. He scribbled it down and heavily underlined it. ‘Do you happen to know what Walter did for a job…?’

‘He’s retired now, of course. But he used to work as a social worker in one of those children’s half way homes in the city… I think they call them children residential care homes now, or something like that…’

Reed scribbled down his notes. This response was particularly relevant to Reed because of the word written on the lounge room wall. His first line of inquiry was to determine if the victim worked with children.

‘You said, “in the city”… Was that in the city of Cumberland… or City of Melbourne?’

‘No. No. No.’ he gestured generally to his left. ‘No, here in Cumberland.’

’Would you know the name of the half-way house, if you heard it?

‘I’m not sure…’

‘Was it…McKillop House…?’

The witness frowned. His eyes lifted skyward. ’I think that was the name of the place he worked at. Yes. I’m sure that’s it, now you mention it…’

This was telling to Reed. As a detective, he had investigated more homicides than he’d care to remember. His experience told him that victims knew their killer in around eighty percent of murders, in Australia.

With this in mind, his initial concerns that the murder of McCormack may have been a revenge killing, had strengthened.

He now had to consider the killer could have been a person who was brought up through the system and spent time at McKillop House, while the victim worked there.

Reed gestured to a cop standing nearby. ‘This police officer here will take your fingerprints, for elimination purposes. Rest assured they won’t be kept on record after this case, and he will also take a statement from you. After that, you’ll be free to go.’

Reed next approached each of the nosey neighbours who stood in the street, or in their respective driveways, to inquire if anyone saw, or heard anything out of the ordinary.

Most were curious to know what happened to Walter, but none was able to offer anything useful to his investigation.

Reed asked each neighbour who had a security camera, to review their recordings from last night and to contact him if they located anyone walking in the area, any cars not from the street, or anything else that was out of the ordinary.

---

It was close to midday by the time Drew and Lincoln dragged themselves out of their beds, or off the couch, in the case of Lincoln.

Each one had severe drinker’s remorse. Lincoln dropped his feet to the floor and sat with his head in his hands. His mouth and throat were so parched, it was like swallowing razor blades. His head ached. The pressure in the back of his eyes felt like they were about to pop out of his head.

It had been over five years since he’d had a drink. He’d forgotten how bad the morning after, the night before, actually was.

Drew also woke a little dusty, but nothing like Lincoln. He whipped them up, what he called the breakfast of champions —bacon and eggs on toast, with a healthy splash of Worcestershire Sauce and a strong coffee.

‘How much did we drink last night, Bro?’ Lincoln asked.

Drew chuckled from the kitchen. He shook his head. ‘Mate, I lost count. They were going down so well… I know we were pretty loose, though…’

Lincoln flicked a finger at all the empties on the coffee table. ‘Did we keep drinking when we came back here…?’

‘We did, mate.’

Lincoln rubbed a hand over his closely shaved head. ‘Fuck me… I don’t even remember getting here.’

Drew laughed. ‘Shots will do that to ya, Bro…’

Lincoln stood from the couch and stretched into a deep yawn. He slipped on his jeans, then his shirt and made his way to Drew in the kitchen. ‘You’re a bad influence, Bro…’ he said, but with a grin.

He slid onto a bar stool at the small kitchen bench and watched Drew work. The smell of coffee and freshly cooked bacon filled the small apartment.

As Drew dished up their breakfast, he said, ‘after Breakfast I’ll get you some of my t-shirts and shirts until you get some coin to buy your own… then I’ll give you a lift to up to Valerie and Max’s.’

‘Sounds like a plan.’ Lincoln tapped his jeans pockets. He frowned. ‘Where’s me phone…’ he blurted to himself. He slid from the stool and returned to the couch. ‘Ahh…’ he said when he saw it. He lifted his phone from the floor beside the couch and returned to the kitchen. ‘What’s your mobile number, Bro…?’

Drew beckoned with a hand. ‘Give it here… I’ll put it in for you.’ Lincoln unlocked it and handed it to Drew. ‘You’re probably seeing double at the mo…’ Drew said as he thumbed in his details.

‘True dat…’

Chapter 8

Reed was a people watcher from way back; it came with his job. While the barman located the hotel owner for him, he leaned a casual elbow on the bar of the Royal Hotel, watching, probably a little too critically, the patrons who started their day with a beer and a punt.

The small TV screens in the rear of the hotel showed the fields and the odds for the next races from Sydney, Adelaide and Brisbane, while Race one in Melbourne had already jumped.

Blokes of all ages, held form guides and shouted at the screen, while glued to the televised call.

Reed was so focused on the various characters in the bar, he failed to notice the owner of the hotel approaching.

‘Detective…’ the owner said. ‘How are you this morning…?’

Reed turned to the approaching voice. ‘I’m good, Wazza.’ The men shook hands.

The hotel owner was a man in his late forties, with a manicured, five-day stubble, maroon coloured polo t-shirt, with his hotel logo and blue jeans.

Wazza jabbed a thumb over a shoulder. ‘Can I get you a beer…?’ He raised a finger to the barman, in anticipation.

Reed waved away the offer. ‘Nah. I’m good, mate… Bit early for me… But thanks anyway…’

‘No probs. I take it you’re here about the assault on ol’ McCormack last night…?’ he said as a question.

Reed frowned. ‘Assault…?’

Wazza nodded. ‘Yeah. Someone took a dislike to McCormack and shoved him off his chair. The bloke looked like he would’ve taken it further if Fualema… You know our security guy, Fualema…?’ Reed nodded. ‘Apparently, if he hadn’t stepped in, ol’ Macca would’ve taken a right kicking from this bloke.’

‘Do you know who it was that had a crack at McCormack…?’

Wazza shook his head. ‘No-one had seen him in here before…?’

‘Can you recall what time this happened?’

Wazza again shook his head. ‘No idea. I only heard about it well after the fact,’ he said. ‘Oh… Hang on…’ he said in apparent realization. ’Fualema told me the guy who had a go at Macca was with one of your boys…’ He clicked his fingers while he tried to recall. ‘Um…’ He pointed to Reed when the pennies dropped. ‘Drew… I only know him as Drew. He’s from the uniform section. He’s in here a fair bit with the rest of the boys from the Cumberland cop shop…’

‘Drew North…?’

‘Yeah. That’s him. Fualema said the bloke who had a crack at ol’ Macca was drinking with Drew last night. Drew left with the bloke, when Fualema kicked his friend out.’

‘And you don’t know what time this was?’

‘No idea. But I tell ya what… I could check the CCTV from out front and it would show when they left.’

‘Good. I was going to ask to look at your CCTV footage anyway, coz I wanted to see what time Mc Cormack left and if he was followed.’

Wazza frowned. ‘Is there some issue with Macca…?’

‘You could say that… Earlier this morning, a neighbour discovered Walter McCormack dead in his home…’

Wazza’s jaw dropped. ‘Ah shit… Really?’ He shook a disappointed head. ‘He was a harmless ol’ bloke…’ Wazza flicked a finger towards the end of the bar. ‘Sat down there on his own, mostly… Never hurt anyone. Kept to himself. Just loved a beer…This was his second home, mate.’ He shook his head. ‘Do you think the bloke who had a go at Macca last night, followed him home and killed him…?’

‘At this point… I have no idea. You’re the starting point of what I suspect will be a long investigation, to try and find his killer.’

‘How’d he die…? Do you mind if ask…?’

‘At this stage I can’t say too much about the details because it’s an ongoing investigation…’

Wazza held up an accepting hand. ‘I understand, mate. All good.’ He leaned an elbow on the bar. ’I still can’t believe he won’t be sitting on that stool tonight…’ He held his focus on the empty bar stool for several seconds. ‘Anyway…’ He beckoned to Reed. ‘Let’s go look at that footage…’

Reed followed Wazza into a small office, about three-quarters the size of an average bedroom. The only window looked out to a nearby, weathered timber side fence.

A four-drawer filing cabinet stood in the corner. In front of the window was a desk with a high back chair, and a moulded plastic visitor’s chair opposite. A large computer monitor sat to the side of the desk.

Wazza slid into his high-back chair and dragged out a drawer with a keyboard on it, from under his desk. He tapped on the keys with purpose, pausing at intervals to check the monitor.

Reed slid into the visitor’s chair opposite Wazza. He leaned his elbows on the desk.

‘There ya go….’ Wazza said. He turned the monitor to Reed. ‘The date and time stamp records they left at 12.38am…’

Reed leaned closer to observe the CCTV footage. The footage of the hotel front door and adjacent footpath was high definition and in colour. Reed recognized Drew North exit the hotel with another male, whom he did not recognize.

Both men appeared to be heavily intoxicated. Reed scribbled down several notes. He watched the review until both men left in an Uber at 12.44am. Reed noted the time.

‘What time did McCormack leave?’ Reed asked.

Wazza tapped on some keys and the footage sped up. After forty seconds of people leaving the hotel in fast time, Wazza tapped a key and the footage returned to normal speed. He flicked a finger at the monitor. ‘That’s Macca leaving there…’ He pointed to the date and time stamp at the bottom of the monitor. ‘He left at 1:08am…’

‘What time did you close?’

‘We were wrapping it up around 1:am last night… Macca’s usually the last to leave. He likes to get one last drink in before the road…’

Reed watched the footage of a heavily intoxicated McCormack staggering along the footpath, until he moved away from the camera’s view. The footage continued for several minutes. No person followed McCormack.

‘You don’t have cameras inside, do you?’

‘Not ones that record patrons in the bar, no…’ Wazza said. Reed nodded his acknowledgement. Wazza gestured to the monitor. ‘Do you want a copy of this…?’

‘Please.’

Reed left the hotel a short time later with a copy of the relevant CCTV footage, and the complimentary six-pack, Wazza usually gave to all cops who visited his establishment, while on duty.

Chapter 9

Drew North sat hunched over a keyboard in front of a computer screen. He dotted the “i’s” and crossed the “t’s” on a report he’d entered into the police database, for a three-car accident he was called to this morning.

It was generally considered among uniform cops that reporting on motor vehicle accidents was one of the more menial tasks, so it was a job that was shared among the shift colleagues. This time, it was Drew’s turn.

Drew hit enter on the final report, at the same time his shift partner returned from the kitchen with a coffee for himself and Drew.

Before Drew could take his first sip, Reed poked his head in through the office door way and said to Drew, ‘Senior Constable North… Can I see you for a minute please…’

Drew exchanged a smirk with his colleague. ‘Senior Constable North…’ his mouth inverted. ‘That’s very official…’ he quipped. ‘Must be serious.’ He pushed himself up from his chair and stood.

Drew followed Reed into a nearby, vacant interview room. Reed closed the door behind them.

‘What’s up, Reed-O?’

‘Just want to have a quick chat about something…’

‘OK.’

‘I have information that last Wednesday you were drinking at the Royal with a friend.’

Drew’s eyes lifted upward. ‘Last Wednesday… You mean, three days ago…?’

‘Yep. That’d be last Wednesday.’

‘That’s right. So, what’s up…? Why you asking about that?’

‘Who was the friend you were drinking with?’

‘Why do you need to know his name…? He’s just a mate…’

‘It’s all part of some inquiries I’m following up on.’

‘I get that… But why do you need his name…?’

‘Do you have a problem giving it to me…?’

‘No. I’d just like to know why you want his name…’

’I have information that he assaulted another patron in the Royal that night, so I’d like to talk to him about that and some other issues…’

Drew slowly nodded his realisation. ‘Ah, that…’ He waved the back of his hand. ‘That was nothing. I stopped him from doing anything to the bloke…’

‘That’s how I understand it. But I still need to talk to him.’

‘Wait. Is this to do with McCormack being found dead a few days back…?’

‘You know about that…?’

‘Only because I saw the Coroner’s report in the Sergeant’s tray. You know how it is… When you see a set of 83’s… curiosity gets the better of you and have a look to see if it’s anyone you know…’

‘So… What’s his name?’

‘Lincoln Berenger. But you’re way off base if you think he had anything to do with McCormack…’

‘How can you be so certain…?’

‘Coz he stayed at mine all night, on the couch. He was too pissed to go home.’

‘I see. Do you know how old he is…?’

‘My age… Twenty-eight.’

‘How do you know him?’

‘We go way back… Been mates since about grade three. He had just arrived back in town, so we went out to the Royal for a few quiet ones…’

‘Arrived back from where…?’

Drew held Reed’s glare. He paused before responding. ‘What does it matter where he came from…?’

‘Everything matters in an investigation, Drew. You of all people should understand that.’

‘He ah…’ Drew ran an awkward hand across his closely shaved head. Drew realised that when Reed ran a priors check on Lincoln, his previous incarceration would come up. So it was no point hiding it from Reed.

‘He… He ah… He’d been doing five years and only got parole Wednesday morning. We bumped into each other in the street and went out for a beer.’

Reed held a firm glare at Drew. ‘He’s done time…?’ he said as a question. He didn’t wait for a response. ‘What was he in for?’

Drew swallowed heavily. He knew his response would not be received well. ‘He did five for manslaughter…He was convicted of a coward punch…’ Drew held up a finger. ‘But he didn’t do it…’

’So let me see if I’ve understood this right… The guy who had a go at McCormack— Your mate…’ he emphasized. ‘Had just been released after doing time for a violence crime… and on the day of his release, he assaulted another patron at the Royal…?’

‘I stopped anything from happening…’

‘He pushed the old bloke off his chair, didn’t he…?’

Drew shrugged. ‘Yeah… but that’s all. Nothing further happened. We were kicked out after that…’

‘Where did you go?’

‘Like I said. Back to mine… We had a few more back at my place and he ended up crashing on my couch.’ Drew pointed at Reed for emphasis. ‘And he was still on the couch the next morning when I woke up… So, if you’re liking him for this… you’re way off base, Detective. I can vouch that he was at mine all that night. I drove him home the next day.’

‘Where’s home…?’

‘He’s staying with his former foster parent’s at the moment out in Highmont.’

‘Foster parents…? Was he brought up through the system…?’

‘Yep. He was a Ward of the State.’

This was falling into place for Reed, better than he expected. ‘Was he ever at McKillop House when he was a kid in the system?’

Drew held Reed’s glare. He paused before responding. ‘I can’t recall… You’d have to ask him…’

‘I fully intend to. What address is he staying at…?’

‘I’d have to look it up. I don’t know off the top of my head…’

‘Do you have…’ Reed paused as he read the name from his notes. ‘Lincoln’s contact number…?’

‘Not on me… No. I’d have to get back to you on that, as well…’

‘OK…’ Reed opened the door. ‘I’ll let you get back to work. Can you get me those details before you finish your shift, please.’

‘Will do…’ Drew said. He brushed passed Reed, to exit the interview room.

---

With his accident report submitted, Drew and his shift partner returned to their general patrol duties. As the senior member of the crew, Drew drove the marked police vehicle.

Each time a general duties cop turned up for work, they’d stepped into the unknown. It was a job where dull moments were rare. Every shift held the mystery of what was going to happen next.

As the first responders, general duties patrol police attended calls to reports of break ins at homes and businesses, domestic violence, missing persons, murders, suicides, armed robberies. They’ve experienced irate motorist they’d intercepted.

They were threatened, physically assaulted, shot at, stabbed. They were responsible for informing next of kin their recently deceased loved one wouldn’t be coming home.

Anything and everything that went wrong, or happened in this town, it was the general duties cop who attended first.

Forever at the forefront of the public eye, their actions and behaviours were constantly under scrutiny, judged and often harshly criticised. But they were always the first called when someone required help.

Some cops had a penchant for enforcing traffic laws, while others preferred crime investigation. For Drew, it was a no-brainer. He hated issuing traffic fines to motorists.

He joined the cops to become a detective, so crime investigation was his passion.

Until he successfully navigated the various processes and jumped through the hoops required to become a detective, Drew had to bide his time on general duties patrol.

While the end of the morning peak period approached, Drew slowly cruised their vehicle around the Cumberland CBD. Traffic was still heavy, but moving, as the daily work commuters found their destinations.

Drew lifted his chin to the white Honda sedan in front of them. ‘This car’s givin’ me the shits, Bro…’ he said to his patrol partner.

‘What’s up…?’

‘I’ve been behind it now for the last two kays and that fucken left indicator has been flashing the whole time. I keep backing off thinking it’s turning at the next corner, but it continues driving straight ahead…’

‘Whacha reckon… Pissed…?’

‘Dunno…’ Drew’s face screwed up. He flicked a finger towards the car. ‘Look…he’s done it again… For fuck’s sake… Turn, or turn it off…’

‘I think it’s a female driver…’ the colleague said.

’OK. If she doesn’t turn at this next intersection—.’ Drew cut himself off when the car failed to turn left. ‘Fuck it!’ He blurted. He lit up the flashing blue and red lights.

The white Honda travelled a short distance before it pulled over. Its left indicator continued to flash. Drew parked his police vehicle behind the car.

‘This’ll be interesting…’ Drew said. He lifted his clipboard. ‘Run a set of usuals on it for me while and go hear her sob story…’ He said, then slid out of the car.

The driving habits he’d observed were consistent with those often displayed by the older population of the town. So, as he approached the vehicle, he expected the driver to be the stereo-typical little old lady hunched over behind the wheel.

Instead, he was somewhat taken aback when the questioning eyes of an attractive blonde stared back up at him. He gave his colleague a discreet, approving jab of his head towards the driver; their universal sign to each other that the driver was hot.

‘Good morning…’ Drew said. His tone was particularly friendly and upbeat, compared to his other traffic stops this morning.

‘Have I done something wrong…?’ The driver asked, with a slight tremor in her voice. Her sparkling blue eyes stared up at him.

Drew smiled, then leaned in through the driver’s open window and turned off the indicator. ’That thing has been flashing at me for the last two kilometres…’ He gave his trademark smile.

Being one of the genetically gifted, Drew was handsome, in a rugged way, with a faultless complexion. He was self-confident and charismatic, with a magnetic personality.

One of the upsides he loved about his job, was the opportunity to meet the various people from this town, especially the attractive women.

‘I’m so sorry… I saw you following me and I suppose I panicked… The longer you followed, the more I panicked…’

‘I get that often…’ he said. ‘Do you have your licence there, please…?’ He had no intention of issuing a ticket. He wanted to know her name and age.

‘This isn’t my car,’ the driver said. She rummaged through her purse. She slid out a Queensland licence and handed it to Drew. ‘This is my mum’s car…’

Drew examined the licence. ‘Brooke Page…’ He read out aloud. ‘From Brisbane… What brings you to our town…?’

‘I’m originally from here, actually… I’m here to visit my mother. She’s been unwell, so I’ve come down to help her with her medical treatment.’ She jabbed a thumb over her shoulder. ‘I just dropped her off at the hospital and I was looking for a car park, when I noticed you following me… I guess I panicked…’

‘You’re originally from Cumberland…?’ Drew said as a question. That was all he took out of that exchange. ‘So am I… Born and bred,’ he said, proudly. ‘How is that I never saw you around town before. I thought I knew all the beautiful women my age from Cumberland…’

The driver smiled at his obvious flirting. ‘I was born here in Cumberland. I went to Uni here… Then, when I graduated, I moved to Queensland for work.’

‘Awesome. Where did you go to uni…?’

She jabbed a finger generally to her right. ‘At the waterfront campus.’

‘Welcome back…’ Drew said, followed by his warming smile. ‘So how long are you down here for…?’

‘That depends on my mother’s diagnosis and her treatment…She lives on her own, so she needs assistance.’

Drew held the licence between two fingers as he passed it back to the driver. ‘I hope everything goes well with your mother,’ he said.

‘Thank you.’ She accepted her licence.

Drew had already noticed there were no rings on the fingers that mattered. ‘By the way…If you find yourself wanting someone to talk to… about anything, or if you’re looking for someone to have a quiet drink with while you’re down here…’ he slipped a business card from his pocket and held it out to the driver. ‘I’d love to be able to catch up some time, while you’re here…’

The driver’s eyes fell to the extended card, then lifted to Drew. His face tightened. He frowned and withdrew the card. ‘I’m sorry. You already have a significant other to help you with that…’ he said, after he read the driver’s reaction to his card.

‘Actually. I don’t…’ She began. ‘It’s just that I’m not really looking to get involved with anyone… I’m only down here for a short time…’

Drew held up a hand. ‘I understand. But I was only talking about a drink and a friendly ear to help you talk about your mum’s health issues…I’m a great listener,’ he said. ‘But all’s good.’

He tapped the car door twice. ‘You have a good day, Brooke…’ He said with a smile.

He commenced to return to his vehicle, but stopped and pointed to the steering wheel. ‘Remember to turn that indicator off next time, OK…’ He said with his trade mark grin.

Chapter 10

Drew was half way back to his car when he heard the driver say, ‘you know what…’ Drew stopped and turned back to the driver. Her head poked out her open window, back towards Drew. ‘I think maybe a quiet drink is something that would do me good… I haven’t been out for some time, now…’

Drew returned to the driver’s window. ‘Don’t feel pressured…’ He removed his card from his pocket. He handed it to the driver.

She read the card while he continued. ‘I’ll leave it up to you. If you feel like a drink, or need a good listener. Any time… Give me a call. My mobile’s on the card there…’ He lifted his chin towards the card in her hand. ‘I’d love to know more about who Brooke Page is…’ He said with a beaming smile.

‘How about tonight…?’ she said.

Drew prided himself on his ability to read people, especially attractive women. But he never saw that outcome in his mind. He thought he’d fired and missed the target.

’Actually… tonight would be cool. I’d like that. Do you know The Underground Bar…?’

Brooke’s face tightened. She shook her head. ’Anywhere but that place…’ She said with obvious firmness.

‘Oh. OK…’

‘The last time I was there, I was attacked…’

‘I’m sorry to hear that. Were you OK…?’

‘Yes. I got away…’

Drew’s confused eyebrows plunged into his face. ‘You were attacked, but you got away…?’ he said as a question.

‘Yeah… Long story.’

Drew glanced back at his partner, then leaned his arms on the car roof while Brooke continued.

’After I graduated from uni, my girlfriends and I went out for celebratory drinks and we ended up at that place. I was leaving for Queensland the next day. I had a graduate position lined up in Brisbane…’

‘What sort of graduate position…?’

‘I’m a lawyer…’

‘Awesome…’

‘I started out as a defence lawyer for a few years, but I got sick of trying to defend guilty people…so I crossed the floor. I’m now a prosecutor.’

‘Glad to hear it…’ He said with a grin. ’So, tell me… What happened at The Underground…?

‘As the night rolled on, my friends hooked up with some guys and they left with them. So, I had to find my own way home. I was on my way to the cab stand and these four guys dragged me into a laneway and started groping me all over…’

‘You’re kidding…’ Drew shook an angry head.

‘I was terrified…I really thought they were going to rape me. Some of the things they said they wanted to do to me…It was disgusting… I just screamed at them to stop…’

‘Unbelievable. What happened…? You said you got away…How did you manage to get away from them…?’

‘Some wonderful guy came over—My knight in shining armour—and told them to leave me alone. When they turned on him, I ran. I’ve never ran so fast in my life…’

‘Wait…’ Drew’s face tightened. He’d heard this story before. He frowned. ‘How long ago did this happen…?’

‘Um… It was when I graduated… So, that’s what… Six years ago now.’

Drew’s mouth fell open. He held a blank stare. ‘This guy you say saved you… what did he look like?’

‘Honestly… I have no idea. As soon as he came over, they left me alone and went for him, so I ran and I didn’t look back. I left for Queensland the next day…’

’So… you didn’t see what happened between your white knight and those arse ‘ole’s…?’

‘No… I just ran.’

Drew slowly nodded his realisation. ‘You know that white knight you talked about… your knight in shining armour…?’ Brooke nodded. She smiled in anticipation. ‘I think he was my mate…’

‘Really. That’s sooo cool. I’d love to meet him and thank him. Does he still live here in Cumberland…?’ Her voice was full of excitement and expectation.

’He does, now…’ Drew waited for the roar from a large truck to pass before continuing. ’But I’m not sure he’d like to meet you…’ Drew said.

Brooke’s face tightened. ‘I don’t understand. Why…?’

‘While you were fleeing for your life…my mate was fighting for his.’ Brooke frowned her confusion while Drew continued.

‘After defending you, they all jumped him. He’s pretty handy at looking after himself… but he knocked one of them out. The guy hit his head on the ground and cracked his skull. He died three days later.’ Brooke’s hand shot up to her mouth. As a lawyer she knew what came next. ‘My mate was charged with—.’

‘Manslaughter…’ Brooke finished his sentence. ‘Oh-my-god…’ she said with emphasis.

‘They looked everywhere for you, so he could defend the charges… They couldn’t find you, coz you were in Queensland, apparently.’

‘I had no idea they were looking for me… What happened…?’

‘Five years, is what happened…’

Brooke rolled her eyes. Her hand shot up to her mouth. ‘Tell me you’re kidding. Tell me you’re playing with me…’ Her eyes pleaded with Drew.

‘I wish I could, Brooke. My mate only got parole last Wednesday, after doing five years… Five years for essentially saving you.’

Brooke’s head lolled forward. She cupped her face in her hands. ‘I can’t believe that.’ She shook her head. ‘I have to meet him. I have to apologise. I can’t let this go now. I’ll never forgive myself. Can you bring him along tonight for some drinks, as well… Of course…that is, if he will come…’

The shine from his blue-eyed goddess had tarnished slightly. He didn’t know how he felt after meeting the reason his mate was unjustly sentenced to five years. It wasn’t directly her fault, but she was still the source of the problem.

‘I’ll ask… But we need to work out where you’d like to go for a drink…? What about the Admiral’s Daughter…?’

‘Is that the pub on Mountjoy Street?’

‘It is…’

‘That sounds great… How about 6.30…?’

’I’ll give him a call. I can’t promise anything with him… But either way…I’ll see you at 6.30.’

‘I look forward to it. Please try and bring your friend along,’ she said as Drew returned to his vehicle. ‘Wait… What’s your friend’s name…?’

Drew was half way to his car when he turned back to the driver. He continued to walk backwards for a few steps while he answered, ‘Lincoln…’ He said then turned and continued to his car.

As he slid into the driver’s seat, his colleague feigned checking his watch. ‘Tell me you at least got her number, Bro… That’s one of the longest intercepts we’ve ever done. I thought you were never coming back. She must be fucken hot…’

Drew smiled to himself as he flicked off the flashing lights and started the car. ’Actually…We’re having drinks tonight at The Admiral’s Daughter…’ He said, as he checked his mirrors and merged into the traffic. His proud grin remained frozen into his face.

‘No doubt about you, Bro… You still got it mate.’