Chapter 11

Two weeks out and Lincoln struggled to adjust to his new found freedom. He could not have been happier to be free of that place, but so much had changed. Not just in his home town, but within himself.

After five years of everything being done for him, he’d fallen out of habit of how to look after his personal affairs. Everyday tasks that most people took for granted, were out of the ordinary for Lincoln.

At twenty-eight he had to learn how to get back into routines such as food and clothes shopping, doing his own banking and finances, using ATMs, learning to cope with large crowds everywhere he went.

These things took time. And the harder they were for him to cope with, the more difficult his integration back into society became.

Lincoln was keen to get back into the work force. Prior to his incarceration, he worked as a chippie on building sites. His old boss was a good friend and told Lincoln to look him up when he got out. He told Lincoln he always had a job waiting for him.

Knowing he was guaranteed a job reassured Lincoln as his release date neared. That was until he tried to contact his old boss.

Lincoln learned that while he was away, the cost of living spiralled. The COVID-19 pandemic hit Cumberland hard. Lockdowns and isolations impacted heavily on businesses.

Sadly for Lincoln’s former boss, his once thriving building business became insolvent, when he was not able to sustain the economic hardship, rising product prices and harsh government enforced COVID restrictions.

When his former boss lost his business, Lincoln lost his guaranteed opportunity for work.

Of the three jobs he’d applied for since his release, all were interested in his resume, until they learned he was recently released from a term of imprisonment.

Lincoln started to understand why some ex-cons ended up back inside, after they struggled to re-integrate. He had no home of his own, no job and no real purpose, or so he believed.

Everything was so different and unsettling, it was a though he’d woken up in some future time.

Max and Valerie allowed Lincoln to stay as long as he needed, until he found his own place. But Lincoln soon learned that along with rising house prices and cost of living, so too was the demand for rental properties in the area.

Lincoln thanked the older male driver then alighted from his Uber. He stood on the kerb while he took a first-time scan of the residential area.

The suburb in which he now stood was on the outskirts of Cumberland. It was a new development and supposedly one of the fastest growing suburbs in the state.

Every house in the street was under various stages of construction. The street was lined with tradie utes and trucks. The pop-pop of nail guns and the screaming of power saws resonated along the street. His focus returned to the address he searched for – Lot 342.

A single storey, residential timber frame was in the process of being constructed on the property. Several tradies moved freely around the construction.

A deep voice yelled out, ‘you Lincoln?’

Lincoln turned to the voice. A well-weathered and tanned, solid built guy in his late fifties, to early sixties approached from the side of the property. His full goatee beard and heavily tattooed arms and neck would have fitted in at any outlaw bikie gang.

‘That’s right…’ Lincoln said. He watched the man approach.

‘Mark Crowley…’ They shook hands. ‘Call me bear,’ he said.

Bear stood with his hands on his hips while he surveyed the frame. ‘This is us…’ he said. ‘I read your resume and I liked what I read. Just so you know… I know Bruno, your former boss, so I gave him a call and he couldn’t speak highly enough of you. Word of mouth goes a long way in my world, mate…’

‘Cool…’ Lincoln said.

Bear flicked a finger at the frame under construction. See that side window there…’ he began. ‘Have a look and tell me what you think about it…’

Lincoln approached the side of the house. Bear followed. He ran his eyes over the constructed frame. ‘Ah… OK. So… the lintel’s in place. The sill trimmer’s there.’ He gestured to the base of the window opening. ‘Ah…’ he continued to run his eyes over the frame. He pointed to the side of the window. ‘The jam and secondary jam are there…’

‘Anything else…?’ Bear said.‘Would you be happy with that in its current state?’

Lincoln shook his head. ‘Nuh…’ Lincoln bent down and touched the vertical timber under the window. ‘This is right… There’s two jack studs here under the sill trimmer…’ He stood up and gestured to the space above the window. ’But there should also be two Jack studs over the lintel, as well…’

Bear smiled. He nodded his approval. ‘Spot on…’ Bear said. ’My dickhead apprentice forgot to fit ‘em and when I asked him, just like I asked you… he had no fucken idea.’

Lincoln flicked a finger at the side wall. ‘You don’t have any diagonal braces fitted on that wall either. I see you have fitted them everywhere else.’

‘Mate… You’re fucken hired. You know your shit.’

Lincoln grinned, but he couldn’t get excited. He’d almost had three job offers before now, until they learned he was an ex-con. To avoid any further disappointment, he decided to declare his hand.

‘Um… Before you make any decisions… There’s something you should know about me…’Lincoln said.

Bear crossed his arms. ‘You mean… would I change me mind if I knew you’d done time…?’ Lincoln’s eyebrows arched. His mouth fell open. Bear waved the back of his hand at Lincoln. ‘Bruno told me… All’s good mate.’

Lincoln sighed his relief. ‘You don’t mind having an ex-con working for ya…?’

‘Not in the slightest, mate… Besides, from what I heard, the prick you fixed up had it comin’. Any bloke who’s prepared to help a female in distress like what you did… is a fucken hero in my books, mate,’ Bear said. ‘But let me ask you this…’ He paused. ‘Do you mind working for a boss who’s done time…?’

Lincoln’s eyebrows again lifted upwards. ‘You’ve done time…?’

‘Yep… Three years… While ago now… Let’s just say… unpaid parking fines and leave it at that.’ He smirked at Lincoln. ‘But what you’ve done in the past, or where you’ve been, doesn’t worry me…’ Bear said. ‘As long as you do your share of the work and do it well, we won’t have any problems…’ Bear extended his hand. ‘You in…?’

Lincoln’s eyes fell to the large hand in front of him. A huge smile filled his face. ‘Hell, yeah,’ he said. He lunged at the hand and shook it.

‘How ya off for tools…?’

‘I don’t have any right now…Everything I had was sold when I was inside.’

Bear waved the back of his hand. ‘I’ve got cha covered, mate. I got shitloads. You can use mine until you get ya own…’

‘Cool. Thanks bear. I appreciate it, mate.’

‘Can you start next Monday…?’

‘I can start now…’ Lincoln’s voice was full of excitement.

A huge grin appeared out the side of Bear’s weathered face. ‘Monday’s fine, mate. Go get pissed on the weekend to celebrate and we’ll see ya then, OK…’

Bear returned to his building site while Lincoln arranged for an Uber.

Chapter 12

Drinks with Drew and Brooke at The Admiral’s Daughter was something Lincoln thought long and hard about. Did he want to meet the person who indirectly, was the reason he ended up in jail?

He often wondered, what if he kept walking that night and didn’t intervene? The last five years of his life would most certainly have been different. He wouldn’t have a criminal record. He wouldn’t be embarrassed about being an ex-con.

His thoughts turned to Brooke. What would have happened to her, if he didn’t intervene? Based on what he’d witnessed that night, the answer was apparent. Would he do it again? You bet he would. Was it her fault? Definitely not.

In the end, he decided it wouldn’t hurt to meet the girl he saved all those years ago. What he did was a good thing and he should embrace it. It was because of him, the last five years of her life had been lived free from the trauma of what these guys would’ve, could’ve done to her, had he not intervened.

Drew and Brooke were seated in tub chairs at a low table in the lounge bar, when Lincoln wandered into The Admiral’s Daughter. They were well into their first round of drinks.

Located on the bay side of the city, complete with bay views, the popular pub was formerly known as The Admiral’s Hotel, until the owner and former Admiral of the town’s prestigious yacht club, passed away.

The Admiral’s daughter inherited the pub and decided it was overdue for a face lift. After extensive renovations, which included a large ala-carte restaurant, atrium covered lounge bar and undercover beer garden, with bay views, the hotel was re-born as The Admiral’s Daughter.

As Lincoln approached, Drew jumped from his tub chair and met Lincoln. They gripped thumbs and moved in for a quick embrace, complete with the obligatory single hand pat on each other’s back.

Lincoln’s focus shifted to the attractive blonde sitting at the table, staring back at him. Her smile was mesmerising. He didn’t remember her to be this attractive.

Drew placed a hand on Lincoln’s shoulder. ‘This is my mate, Lincoln…’ he said to Brooke. He extended a hand towards Brooke. ’Linc… This is Brooke… The lady you saved from those arse ‘oles all those years ago…’

Brooke stood from her chair and embraced Lincoln. Her hug was tight. He returned the embrace. ‘I want to thank you sooo much for what you did for me…’ she said during the extended hug. She pushed her self away from Lincoln and stared into his eyes.

Lincoln was never uncomfortable around women, but it had been a while since he was this close, especially to someone so attractive. He held her gaze.

‘I am so sorry for what happened to you… I had no idea anything happened that night. I thought you scared them off and they went away. I was frightened, I just ran. I wish I could go back and change everything… I feel responsible for what happened to you.’

‘I appreciate that…’ He waved the back of a hand. ‘You know what…? It’s done and can’t be changed…’ Lincoln said. ‘I’m out… I’m here and I’m focused on looking forward, not back.’

‘You have such a fantastic attitude,’ Brooke said. ‘I don’t know I would, if what happened to you, happened to me…’

Lincoln smiled as he gestured to her seat. ‘Please…’ When Brooke returned to her seat, Lincoln slid into his tub chair.

The drinks flowed freely as they became acquainted with each other. Brooke insisted there was no way Lincoln would pay for any drinks. This night was her treat. The more they drank, the more anecdotal stories they shared.

Typical of most lawyers Lincoln had met, Brooke had the gift of the gab.She could talk. She knew how to capture an audience with a yarn.

Brooke extended an upturned palm across the table to Lincoln. ‘Can I have your phone? I’m going to put my number in it, for you,’ she said. Lincoln removed his phone, unlocked it, then passed it over the table. ‘I’m only down here for a short while,’ she continued, ‘but I’d love to keep in touch, while I’m here. I already have Drew’s number…’

Brooke thumbed in her phone number then passed Lincoln’s phone back. ‘Let’s kick this up a notch, or two,’ Brooke said. ‘Who’s up for some shots…?’ Brooke didn’t wait for a response. She jumped from her seat and headed for the bar.

Both men watched her walk away. When their glancing eyes met, Lincoln raised his eyebrows in acknowledgement. ‘She’s fucken hot…’ Lincoln said.

Drew glanced back over a shoulder, towards the bar. ‘That she is, Bro…’

---

Drew assisted Lincoln out of the Uber. He thanked the driver then closed the door. As the Uber drove away, Lincoln and Drew staggered their way, in darkness, down the lengthy drive to Drew’s unit at the rear of the complex.

Their alcohol fuelled night with Brooke continued at The Admiral’s Daughter until 1am. Brooke went drink-for-drink, shot-for-shot with her company, until Lincoln threw in the proverbial white towel.

He was yet to get his drink back on, since leaving prison, so his capacity tolerance was considerably lower than that of his company.

When Drew noticed how Lincoln had deteriorated to the stage where he talked in shorthand, he suggested it was time to call it and get Lincoln home.

They had decided earlier in the night that because the night was intended to be a big one, Lincoln would crash on Drew’s couch, again.

They parted ways on the street outside the hotel. Brooke left in one Uber, while Drew and Lincoln left in another.

Drew opened his front door, flicked on a light and assisted Lincoln to the couch.‘Do you want a night cap, bro…?’

Lincoln mumbled some unintelligible response. Drew couldn’t discern where one word ended and the next word started. He grinned at his mate. Lincoln’s eyes were barely open. ’I’ll take that as a ‘No’, Bro…’ Drew said.

‘Mate… I’ve only been pissed twice, since I got out… and they’ve both been with you…’ He scoffed. ‘You’re a bad influence, mate.’

Drew grabbed some blankets from a cupboard and dropped them on the couch beside Lincoln. He chuckled as he glanced down at his inebriated friend. Lincoln’s head had fallen back on the couch backrest. His mouth was open and his eyes were closed. All that was missing was the trail of vomit down his chin. Maybe that was yet to come.

‘See ya in the morn, mate…’ Drew said. There was no response. Lincoln had not moved.

Drew flicked the light off on his way into his bedroom.

Chapter 13

Mark English parked his car in the garage and entered his home, via the internal garage entry doorway.

Friday night was poker night with the boys. He looked forward to his weekly game. It was a chance to bluff some coin from his mates, share a cigar or three and probably way too many beers.

It was the one night a week he had a leave pass and he always made the most of it. He rarely made it home from the game before 3am. Tonight it was 3.05am when he checked his watch, after pulling into his garage.

Mark tip-toed his way into the kitchen, in the darkness. He never turned on any lights, in case the light bled up the stairwell and disturbed his wife.

Dull light from the open fridge door illuminated the corner of the darkened kitchen, while he searched for something to satisfy his hunger pangs.

He leaned on the open door while he scanned the contents, searching for something to jump out at him.

When he stood back up from examining his fridge contents, a gloved hand came from behind and covered his mouth. Mark’s eyes flared. His pupils were like small islands in a sea of white. The blade of a large knife rested firmly against the front of his throat.

‘Shhh….’ A voice whispered. ‘We don’t want to wake your wife now, do we…?’

Mark shook his head in response, as best he could from behind a hand and with the knife against his neck. ‘What do you want…?’ he mumbled through the leather glove.

‘Revenge…’ the voice from behind, whispered. Mark frowned heavily. ‘You did something to me a long time ago… and now it is time for you to pay…’ The intruder dragged Mark over to the nearby dining table. He pushed him down on a chair. ‘Sit…’ the person said.

Mark fell heavily into a chair. He looked up at the intruder. ‘I don’t understand… Revenge for what…?’

The intruder dragged off his black balaclava. He glared down at Mark. The light from open fridge door provided sufficient light to highlight his facial features. ‘Remember me…?’

‘No. Should I?’

‘Think back to McKillop House… When you were the house Manager…’

‘I haven’t worked there for over twelve years…’

‘I was a kid when I came to you and reported your supervisor, Walter McCormack for… interfering with me.’

‘I don’t remember that…’ His voice tremored.

‘Yes you do. I came to you and I told you what that piece of shit was doing to me and you did nothing,’ he said with his voice firming. ’You may not have touched me… but you allowed him to continue what he was doing. You condoned his paedophilia by ignoring what I told you was happening.’

‘That was a long time ago…’

‘For you… not for me. That shit never leaves here…’ He aggressively knocked a gloved clenched fist against the side of his head. ’I live with what he did to me every day, but you could’ve stopped it. You chose not to and that sealed your fate. Do you watch the news…? Did you see what happened that piece of shit, McCormack?’

Mark’s eyes flared at the realisation the person standing before him was McCormack’s killer. ‘That was you…?’ Light from the fridge highlighted the beads of sweat on his forehead. ‘Please… You have to understand. I couldn’t turn him in. I—.’

The intruder lunged the knife blade at Mark’s face. ‘Bullshit…!’ he interjected. ’You could’ve stopped it.But you didn’t… So here we are now…’

‘What are you going to do…?’

The intruder removed some black cable ties and dropped them on the table. Mark’s eyes fell to the items. He frowned his confusion before his questioning eyes lifted to his attacker.

The intruder jabbed the knife at the cable ties. ‘Tie each ankle to a chair leg…’

‘What if I don’t… You’re probably going to kill me anyway. You’ve clearly made up your mind. So go ahead… just do it… I haven’t done anything wrong to you…’

The intruder’s fists clenched. He lunged at Mark and grabbed a handful of his hair and wrenched the seated man’s head back to expose his neck. ‘There’ no “probably” about it… You are sitting here now… Because you did nothing…’

‘Please… I have a wife.’

The intruder forcefully pushed Mark’s head forward. He moved around and stood in front of him. ‘You’re right… You do have a wife…’ the intruder said.

‘Here’s how this is going to go down… You do as I say and tie off your legs with those…’ he jabbed the knife at the cable ties. ‘Or…we will take a short trip upstairs, where I will slit your wife’s throat and make you watch the life bleed out of her… Then I’m going to kill you. Either way… Your life ends tonight. It’s up to you if you take your wife with you.’

‘You’re insane…’

‘Am I…? Am I insane…? Or am I the abused victim of the sick and depraved paedophile you could have stopped…?’

‘Please. I beg of you…?’

’You beg me… Fuck you! I begged you to make him stop… How did that work out for me…?’ The intruder waved a hand. ‘Enough. Tie your ankles… or we head upstairs…’

Mark’s eyes lifted to his ceiling. The fridge light glistened on the tears that welled. When he left for his poker game earlier tonight, he kissed his wife goodbye. Little did he know that would be last time he’d speak to her, or see her.

He lifted a cable tie and secured an ankle to the chair leg. He repeated the action with the other leg. ‘Satisfied?’

The intruder pushed another cable tie closer to Mark, using the tip of his knife. ‘Tie one wrist to the chair arm…’

Mark glared his contempt at his attacker. He paused to take a deep breath then did ask instructed.

‘Is there any other way I can make this up to you…? Please… I have money… I can pay you whatever you want…’

The intruder did not respond. He lifted the last of the cable ties and attached the remaining wrist to the arm of the chair.He checked all four were tight.

‘Can I say goodbye to my wife…?’

‘Wake her up and you’ll force my hand… I can’t leave any witnesses.’

Mark’s pained eyes lifted to the intruder. ‘You bastard…’ he blurted. ‘It doesn’t have to be this way.’

’You made that choice a long time ago…’ The intruder moved to stand behind Mark.

As Mark tried to twist around to see what was happening, the intruder forced a clear plastic bag over Mark’s head. The bag was a tight fit. There was little oxygen inside the bag.

While Mark struggled for air, the intruder secured the bag around Mark’s neck with duct tape. With every panicked breath, the plastic bag sucked into, and out of Mark’s open mouth. The more he panicked, the quicker the plastic bag moved into and out of his open mouth.

The intruder moved to stand in front of Mark. He smiled at his victim’s futile attempts to breath. ‘I want my face to be the last thing you see before you leave this place,’ the intruder said, devoid of any emotion.

Mark struggled to free his arms and legs while he tried to draw breath. The plastic bag sucked against his face like cling wrap. What air there was inside the bag had long depleted.

Mark’s open mouth was frozen in place, with the plastic bag sucked deep inside. His body fought against the futile attempts to get oxygen.

‘Tell McCormack, “Fuck You!”, from me, when you see him… you piece of shit.’

Mark’s eyes rolled back. His head lolled forward. The gasping attempts for oxygen ceased, as Mark’s brain shut down from the lack of oxygen.

A satisfied smile emerged out the side of the intruder’s face. He gathered up his balaclava and quietly skulked away into the darkness.

Chapter 14

Reed sipped on his morning coffee while he examined the case file photographs of the bloody shoe prints throughout McCormack’s house. A distinctive wear pattern was evident in the imprints.

He had ascertained through his inquiries with the various sporting shoe manufacturers that the sole pattern design was a size twelve, from an ASIC brand of runner.

The manufacturer confirmed the sole was from a style of shoe that was possibly eight or nine years old, and was no longer in production.

Similar to the well-known fairy tale, Reed needed to find his ‘Cinderella’, but with a twist. Instead of locating the foot that fitted a shoe, he needed to find a shoe that fitted a pattern.

He lifted the criminal record printout for Lincoln Berenger and re-read it. Part of him liked Berenger for McCormack’s murder. But there were too many gaps.

The day Berenger was released from prison he had an altercation with McCormack in a pub. Later that next morning, McCormack was brutally murdered in what appeared to be a revenge kill. Was this a coincidence?

He was not able to place Berenger at the scene. There was no murder weapon located and there were no witnesses. The biggest hurdle of all was, Berenger had a water tight alibi from a respected local uniform cop.

He had received information that suggested Berenger was a Ward of the State, as a child. If Berenger was his man, he had to link Berenger to McCormack, and, or McKillop House.

His questioning doubt wondered if he was merely plucking at straws to try and make Berenger fit.

First things first. He needed to see if Berenger owned a pair of size twelve ASIC runners.

‘Wait…’ he said to no-one. His eyes lifted to the ceiling. ‘Royal Hotel…’ he blurted. He quickly navigated to a file on his computer, then opened it. The security footage from the Royal Hotel opened on his screen.

The hotel footage playback depicted Drew North and Lincoln Berenger standing on the footpath, outside the Royal Hotel, in the hours before McCormack was murdered.

In the footage, Berenger wore a red, unbuttoned flannelette shirt over a dark t-shirt and dark blue jeans. He also wore white, or light-coloured ASICS runners.

‘Bingo…’ Reed said. ‘White ASICS…I wonder if they’re a size twelve,’ he muttered.

While he started to feel good about himself, his desktop computer email alert tone sounded. Reed jiggled his mouse and accessed his inbox.

Since Reed visited the Walter McCormack murder scene, a neighbour from 45 Fleming Street, located directly across the road from McCormack’s house, contacted Reed.

The neighbour had conducted a review of his security camera footage and discovered some footage he said Reed may be interested in.

Reed asked the neighbour to email him the video file of the relevant footage. The incoming email was the .mpeg file he’d waited for.

He clicked on the attached file. A Windows player opened on his computer screen. Most of the dark footage focused on the driveway and front yard of number 45 Fleming Street.

The front footpath, driveway and front fence of Walter McCormack’s house, opposite, had barely snuck into the top of footage playback, in the distance.

Reed clicked play. The playback bar at the bottom of the window slowly edged its way across the screen. Reed frowned his confusion. Apart from the still of early morning, the security camera footage captured very little that would assist his inquiries.

His searching eyes scanned the playback footage for anything that would give him a clue. At one minute and twelve seconds of the playback, a shadowy figure strolled into the top of the playback, from the left of the screen.

The person depicted in the footage was only about ten millimetres in size, on his screen, at the very top of the screen and was a long way away from the camera. The person’s head was off the top of the screen and not captured in the footage.

The dark footage was grainy and lacked detail. Reed determined the person wore what appeared to be a red shirt and dark pants, possibly jeans, and white runners.

Reed continued to watch the playback. The person disappeared out the top of the screen, in the vicinity of McCormack’s driveway. Reed’s eyes fell to the footage date and time stamp. He scribbled down 3:18am.

The shadowy figure emerged back into the top of the playback at 3:34am and proceeded to walk back in the direction he came from. Reed scribbled down the time.

When his eyes returned to the footage, he frowned heavily. ‘Wait,’ he again said to no one. He rewound the footage to when the person first appeared in the playback and hit play.

The footage was not clear, however, the shadowy figure appeared to walk with a stiff-leg limp.

He watched the footage through to when the person re-emerged back into the footage and until the person disappeared out the left of the playback screen.

A grin emerged out the side of Reed’s face. He tapped his keyboard to pause the playback. He positioned the CCTV footage from the Royal Hotel and the neighbour’s footage side-by-side on his monitor.

In The Royal Hotel footage Drew North and Berenger walked over to the Uber when it arrived, and climbed in. In the footage, Berenger wore a red shirt, dark jeans and white ASICs. And most telling of all, he walked with a distinctive stiff-leg limp.

Reed paused the footage and clicked play on the Fleming Street footage. He watched the shadowy figure move across the screen. There was definitely a limping gait there and the person wore a red shirt and white runners.

Such was the poor quality of the playback, and the distance from the camera, the footage was not conclusive. Reed couldn’t prove it was definitely Berenger in the footage, even though he was confident it was.

He needed more and Berenger’s runners could be the smoking gun he searched for.

Reed’s warbling desk phone broke his concentration on the glaring similarities before him. He snatched up the handset.

‘Detective Sergeant Campbell…’ he blurted firmly. ‘What…? You’re shittin’ me…’ He rolled his eyes. They dropped to the McCormack file on his desk. ‘Where’s this one? Aha… What’s the deceased’s name…?’ Reed scribbled notes. ‘Aha… COD…? Oh. OK.’ Reed scribbled “different MO to McCormack”, then underlined it heavily. ‘Who found him? Right…What’s her name? Right.’ He scribbled more notes. ‘What time did she find him…? OK. And you’ve taped off the scene…?’ he said as a question. ‘Good. I’ll be there in about…’ Reed checked his watch. ‘Thirty minutes.’ He slammed the handset down into the cradle.

---

Mark English’s widow, Jacinta sat on her three-seater lounge. Her head was down and her shoulders were rounded. She held a tear-soaked tissue, scrunched-up tightly in her hand. A policewoman sat beside her, rubbing a comforting hand across Jacinta’s back.

Reed sat opposite Jacinta, in a lounge chair. A female family friend entered the lounge room and placed a freshly brewed coffee on the coffee table in front of Reed. Reed smiled and nodded his appreciation.

He took a sip of his coffee then replaced his cup. ‘I understand this is difficult for you, Jacinta… but I have a couple of more questions, if you are up to it…’

Jacinta nodded rapidly. Her reddened eyes glowed against her fair complexion.

‘Are you aware if Mark had any enemies…?’

‘No. Not that I’m aware of.’

‘Did Mark ever mention receiving any threats from anyone…?’

She shook her head. ‘No. Never. Mark was a gentle, friendly man. Everyone loved him.’

‘What work did Mark do…?’

‘He was as a Manager in the NDIS… the National Disabilities Scheme…’ she said. ‘He loved helping people.’ She dabbed her eyes.

Reed nodded as he scribbled notes. ‘You mentioned earlier that Mark had been to his weekly poker game, last night…’ Jacinta nodded her response. ’What time did he usually arrive home from the poker games…?’

‘I’m always in bed when he gets home… But he’s mentioned times around 3am…’

‘Are you aware of the size of the pot they played for?’

‘Every player paid an entry fee of twenty-five dollars and this was held in a prize kitty. They all received the same dollar amount of poker chips and the winner at the end of the night got the cash kitty.’

‘So, there’s no big money, or potential for large debt from these weekly poker games?’

‘Oh, God no… Besides. They are all Mark’s mates… None of them would hurt him.’

Reed scribbled a note to rule out the murder being a hit for large unpaid debt.

‘Excuse me, Detective…’ A crime scene officer called from the lounge room doorway. Reed turned to the voice. ‘Do you have a minute…?’ The CSO said.

Reed excused himself and moved into the kitchen. Mark’s body still sat in situ at the kitchen table. The ripped apart plastic bag sat like a collar around his neck.‘What’ up?’

‘The government undertaker is here to take him away…Have you finished with everything in here…?’ The CSO gestured to the general kitchen area.

‘As long as you’re all done… I’m happy for them to take him away. I’ll get the uniform boys to escort them to the morgue and lodge the body.’

‘OK. Yeah, well, we’re all done here.’

‘Anything located…?’

The CSO shook his head. ‘Nothing, really. The only fingerprints are on the plastic bag and they belong to the wife, from when she found him and ripped open the bag. There’s no transfer. No footprints. The scene is clean.’

Reed scanned the kitchen. ‘No sign of forced entry…?’

‘No.’

Reed rubbed a contemplative hand across his mouth. ‘How’d the offender get in…?’ he said, thinking out aloud. ‘There’s no defensive wounds, either…’ Reed said to himself, as he processed what was known.

‘It is very difficult to secure cable ties and force a plastic bag over someone’s head and secure it, without evidence of some form of struggle…’ the CSO said. ‘Anyone fighting for their life would put up a struggle…’

‘Rules out blitz attack, unless he was unconscious at the time. Autopsy will confirm that…’ Reed said. ‘There’s nothing reported stolen, so it rules out a burglary gone wrong. Did he know his attacker? Did he have a conversation with his attacker…? Maybe he was held at gun point, or similar.’ Reed scanned the kitchen. ‘Are there any knives missing…?’

‘No. One of the first things we checked.’

‘OK. So… why this guy…? What did he do? Who’d he piss off…?’

‘Do you think it’s related to that one a few weeks back…?’ The CSO asked.

Reed shook his head. ‘Not at this stage. McCormack’s murder was clearly a revenge kill… The hate from the murderer was evident in the amount of stab wounds and the message on the wall…’ He scanned the kitchen. ‘There’s no messages written anywhere around here to indicate this was the same.’ Reed gestured to the front of the property. ‘What are we…? About twenty-five, thirty kays from the city out here…’ Reed said. ’The offender would’ve needed a vehicle to get here.Are there any foreign tyre tracks in the gravel drive way?’

‘Nothing. No footprints. No other tyre tracks…’

‘How long do you think that driveway is…?’

The CSO paused to consider his calculations. ‘Ahh… I’d say about… five or six hundred metres… give or take…’

Reed nodded. ‘Maybe our murderer parked up at the main road and walked down to the house in the darkness…’ he said, thinking out aloud. ‘This one’s going to be tough. The closest neighbour is about five kilometres away, with nothing but trees and farmland in between. There’s no security cameras.’ Reed’s focus returned to the victim. ‘Who did you piss off…?’

The government undertakers interrupted their conversation when they entered the kitchen, with their gurney in tow.

Reed gestured to the victim. ‘He’s all yours, boys,’ he said then returned to the lounge room to wrap up.

Chapter 15

Reed sat at his desk reviewing his McCormack murder case file, ahead of his monthly Monday morning case update with his boss, Detective Senior Sergeant Alan Merritt.

The meetings not only updated his boss of his case progress, but they also provided Reed the opportunity to run any issues he had through a second set of experienced eyes.

With the recent murder of Mark English, Reed now had the case files from two unrelated murder investigations sitting on his desk. He currently had nothing to go on from the English case, but he liked Lincoln Berenger for the McCormack murder. He needed to start pursuing the few leads he had, to try and lock this one down.

‘OK…’ Alan said, after he emerged from his office, enroute to Reed’s desk. ‘Sorry about that…’ He jabbed a thumb over his shoulder. ’Phone call went longer than expected. ‘So, where are we at with the McCormack murder?’

Reed shuffled some papers in his file. He lifted Berenger’s criminal record print out and handed it to Alan. ‘I’m liking this guy for it… but more work is needed.’

Alan ran his eyes over the record. ‘Five years for manslaughter. OK. What do you have on him, so far?’

Reed jabbed a finger at the report held by Alan. ’This bloke gets parole on Wednesday 14th of this month. Later that night he’s drinking at the Royal with one of the guys from uniform here… Drew North.’

‘How do they know one another?’

‘School mates, apparently. So, while at the Royal this bloke…’ Reed gestured to the report in Alan’s hand. ‘Sees McCormack seated at the bar—all alone. He rushes over and pushes McCormack off his stool… No words were exchanged. No heated confrontation…Just wham… off the stool you go…’

‘OK’

‘McCormack was uninjured and Berenger was ejected straight afterwards.’

‘OK…’ Alan said in a tone that sought more information.

‘One of the issues I have is, this bloke Berenger has been away for five years, right… The day he gets out, he sees McCormack sitting at the bar of the Royal and assaults him… His actions suggested to me that there was some form of historical resentment towards McCormack. Whatever happened between them had to be well before Berenger was sent away, agree…?’

‘Agree.’

‘Now… As a brief backstory, I have information that McCormack used to be the supervisor at McKillop House when Berenger was a Ward of the State there…’

‘Really… OK. Interesting.’

‘That of course needs to be verified. Now…’ Reed clicked on a file on his computer. The Fleming Road security footage from a neighbour opened onto his screen.

‘I received this from a neighbour’s security camera, directly across the street from McCormack’s house…’ Reed continued. ‘It’s from the night McCormack was murdered.’ He clicked play.

Alan moved closer to the screen. When the shadowy figure entered the playback screen from the left, Reed gestured to the figure and said, ‘I believe this is our killer.’

‘Is that the best quality we have…?’ Alan strained his eyes at the screen.

‘It is. But see here…’ Reed gestured to the person moving along the footpath. ‘Have a look at the way he walks.’

Alan squinted at the screen. ‘Looks like he has a limp, or an injury.’

‘Correct.’

‘What about his clothing…? Can you make anything out…?’

Alan returned his focus to the footage playback. He shook his head. ‘It’s hard to be certain… but I’d say a… red shirt… dark jeans, or similar and white runners.’ Alan stood back from the screen.

Reed nodded. ‘Now… remember when McCormack was murdered… it was in the early hours, following his altercation with Berenger… He was stabbed around thirty-eight times and the word Paedophile was written on the wall in blood…’

‘Yep…’

‘Clearly an over kill. Possibly revenge related…right?’

‘You think it was Berenger after what he did at the pub…?’ Alan said as a question.

’I do… But I think it goes back well before the pub… If I’m right… I’d say back to McKillop House. But see what you think.’ Reed minimised the playback screen and opened the CCTV footage from outside the Royal hotel after Berenger was ejected. ‘Watch this…’ He clicked play. Alan moved closer to the screen. ‘See what Berenger is wearing…’

Alan nodded. ‘Red shirt, dark jeans and white runners…’ he said. He jabbed a finger at the screen. ‘And he walks with a defined limp…’ Alan stood back from the screen.

’So, when you consider the timing of McCormack’s murder being in the hours after Berenger assaulted him at the Royal… and the way McCormack was murdered, that is, by obvious overkill, with the Paedophile graffiti, it suggests there was history there between McCormack and his murderer… right…?

’Now… think back to what I said about Berenger and McCormack at the Royal. There had to be history for him to single out McCormack at the pub, on his first day out, after five or six years, especially when there was no exchange or altercation. For some reason, Berenger resented McCormack. And it had to be a deep-seated resentment, possibly even hate. But why…?’

Reed’s boss rubbed a contemplative hand across his mouth. ‘That first footage you showed me is quite poor quality. Yes… there are similarities between the grainy figure in the footage and Berenger at the Royal,’ he said. ‘But we need something more conclusive to put Berenger at McCormack’s house.’

‘The offender left blood-stained sole prints from size twelve ASIC runners, which have been out of production for eight or nine years. Berenger has been out of action for five…’

‘So, you need Berenger’s shoes from the Royal footage,’ he said as a question.

‘Correct… But there is a small problem. North provided Berenger with an alibi. He says Berenger slept on his couch all night and was still there when he woke the next morning…’

‘Really…? How reliable is North?’

‘I have no reason to disbelieve him.’

‘Well, if those white runners match, North may have some explaining to do, as well.’

‘I’m applying for a warrant for Berenger’s runners and the clothes he wore on that night, as well as historical records from McKillop House, to prove Berenger lived there when McCormack worked there.’

Alan nodded his approval. ‘Good…’ He flicked a finger at the English case file. ‘I take it…it’s too early for any solid leads on that one…’

Reed’s eyes fell to the English case file. ‘Correct.’

‘OK…’ Alan said. ‘Let me know how you go with Berenger…’ He tapped the desk twice before he returned to his office.

---

Betty Hebdo trawled the various data bases and files, using keyword searches, while Reed patiently watched on. As the McKillop House Administration Manager, she had access to all house records, historical and current.

Reed’s application for a search warrant on McKillop House was initially met with resistance. The Magistrate was uncomfortable with Reed’s request for the records of all children who moved through McKillop House, during Berenger’s time there.

As a compromise, to protect the identity of the children raised through the system, the Magistrate allowed a warrant for all records specific to Lincoln Berenger and Walter McCormack, only.

Betty’s eyes flicked from the conditions listed in the search warrant, to her monitor and back again, as she tapped away on her keyboard.

‘Isn’t it terrible what happened to Walter…?’ she said, as she typed. ‘You know… I was here when both these people named in this warrant, were here…’ she said. ‘Lincoln Berenger and Walter McCormack. I knew both of them…’

Reed’s surprised eyebrows arched. ‘You were here between 2000 and 2008…?’ he said as a question.

‘I’ve been here since 1995…’ She said with a grin. ‘Sad isn’t it…? Stuck in the same job for twenty-seven years.’

‘With all that historical knowledge you have…’ Reed began. ’Are you able to tell me… During your time with Walter and Lincoln, was there ever any incidents that come to mind?

Betty stopped typing. Her eyes lifted to Reed, seated opposite. She held his gaze while she sat back in her chair. After a brief pause, Betty gestured to the office door. ‘Be a dear and close that for me, will ya…’

Reed stood from his chair and closed the door, then slid back into his seat. He was keen to hear where this was going.

Betty leaned her elbows on the desk. ‘I’m aware of a number of incidents involving Walter, actually…’

‘A number of incidents…?’ Reed repeated, while he processed the comment. ‘How did you know of these “incidents”?’

‘I was the manager’s personal assistant back then. I typed all his reports and letters for him to sign.’

‘Any of the incidents serious…?’

‘Honey, they’re all serious when they involve young children.’

Reed couldn’t argue with that sentiment. He nodded his agreement. He was like a genealogist searching for juicy family history and Betty was the elderly aunt who knew a wealth of information about the family dirt. Problem was, there were legal limitations to what she could provide.

‘Did Lincoln ever make a complaint about Walter…?’

She nodded rapidly. ‘Lincoln made a complaint about Walter to the manager, at the time. The manager conducted an investigation and the allegation was found to be unsubstantiated.’

‘Unsubstantiated…? But that doesn’t mean it didn’t happen, right…?’ Betty lifted her eyebrows in response. To Reed, that meant to him, she agreed, but couldn’t comment. ‘What was the basis of the allegation made by Lincoln?’

‘I’m not privy to the details, but I have the report here. It’s part of the records I’m compiling under the search warrant. I’ll print it for you.’

The printer on the cabinet behind Betty fired up, then eventually spat out a single page document. Betty handed the report to Reed.

He sat back in his chair to read the document. When he was finished, he shook a disappointed head. ’There is no detail in this report about any allegations raised…’ He lifted the report to Betty. ‘It only mentions “allegations” were raised against House Supervisor Walter McCormack. How can we find out what the allegations were?’

‘They were never detailed because there was no evidence found to substantiate the allegations.’

‘How hard did they look…?’ Reed blurted in frustration. Betty shrugged her response. ‘The allegations should have been detailed, regardless of whether they were substantiated, or not…’ he said. ‘This report reads like this place was protecting Walter…’

‘I think the allegations against Walter was the reason why he was eventually advised to…’ She held up quotation fingers. ‘Resign…’

‘So… the House knew Walter had interfered with a boy, or maybe it was boys, plural…?’ Reed shook his head. ‘And they just moved the problem on.’

‘Pretty much…’

‘By his knowledge and inaction, this manager was complicit in what happened to any boys under his care in McKillop House…’ Reed said.

‘You have to understand. It wasn’t his fault, though… There were strict directions from above… that—.’

’Above…? His Management…?’

Betty shook her head. She pointed upwards. ‘Higher…’ Her voice lowered. ‘The directions came directly from the Minister to our CEO. There was an election looming, you see, and the government couldn’t afford the press to get wind of a scandal in a state-run facility like this. So… the direction was to bury it and bury it deep…’

‘So the CEO and the state Minister were all aware of allegations raised against Walter…?’ He shook his head in disgust. Reed read the report. ‘Who was the manager who authored this document…?’

His mouth fell open. ‘Mark English was the house manager when Lincoln and Walter were here?’ he said as a question.

‘That’s right. Mark was a lovely man. He cared so much for the kids under his control here. He ended up resigning about twelve years ago. I think it got to him in the end. He struggled to accept what Walter was doing.’

Reed’s eyes fell heavily to the desk. His unrelated murder was now a double murder.

‘Judging by your reaction, you didn’t know Mark worked here, did you…?’ Reed’s eyes lifted to Betty. ‘I wondered why Mark’s name wasn’t on this warrant. Now it makes sense.’

‘What makes sense…?’

‘Well… Clearly you think Lincoln is involved in Walter’s murder, and now you know Mark worked here as well… I assume you think Lincoln was responsible for that one, as well…’

‘Investigations such as these involve all sorts of inquiries, so we try to learn as much as we can about a victim and those who knew him.’

‘I understand,’ she said, albeit unconvincingly.

Once Betty was finished with her records search, she provided Reed with a combination of hard copy and electronic records, to satisfy her requirements of the search warrant.

Reed now had his motive for the murder of both McCormack and English. Both murders were payback, but for different reasons.

Chapter 16

Reed checked his watch – 7am, the earliest he was legally permitted to execute a search warrant. He pushed the doorbell then stepped back from the door.

He ran impatient eyes across the front of the house, while he waited. His wandering eyes met the two uniform cops waiting with him.

The sound of door locks clicking drew his attention back to the door. The front door opened. ‘Yes…’ a female voice said.

Reed could make out the silhouette of a person standing behind the security door. ‘Good morning. My name is Detective Sergeant Reed Campbell. I’m from Cumberland Police. Are you Mrs Valerie Olsen…’

‘Yes…’ the voice returned.

‘I understand you were Lincoln Berenger’s former Foster Mother…’

‘That’s right…’

‘Does Lincoln live here with you at the moment…?’

‘Yes, he does. What’s this about?’

‘Is Lincoln home at the moment?’

‘No. He is at work…’

Reed checked his watch. ‘What time did he start…?’

‘Six A-Em.’

Reed rolled his eyes at the missed opportunity. He hoped Lincoln would’ve been home when he executed the search warrant. Lincoln’s mobile phone was one of the items he sought.

He held up a folded piece of paper. ’I have a search warrant to search your house for any of Lincoln’s possessions, listed in this search warrant.

A lock clicked and the screen door opened outwards. A short lady in her early sixties, with white, salon styled hair, stared back at him, with a puzzled expression. ‘Search warrant…?’ She passed her eyes over the uniform cops, before her focus returned to Reed. ‘I don’t understand. What are you looking for…?’

Reed handed Valerie her copy of the search warrant. ‘Everything you need to know is on your copy of the warrant, there.’ She accepted the warrant and began to read it. ‘Can we come in…?’ Reed said.

Valerie stepped to the side and extended a hand back inside her home. ‘I don’t suppose I have a choice… do I?’

Reed chose not to dignify her rhetorical question with a response. He gestured to the uniform cops, then moved passed Valerie and entered the home. She closed the door behind them.

‘It says here that you’re conducting a murder investigation…’ Valerie said. Her puzzled expression moved from cop, to cop, before ending up at Reed. ‘Do you think Linc is somehow involved in a…murder?’

‘Well… That will depend on whether we locate any evidence during this search,’ Reed said. ‘Sometimes evidence we locate can actually eliminate suspects.’

’So, you’re saying Lincoln is a suspect…’

‘At this stage, Lincoln Berenger is a person of interest in an ongoing investigation. That is all he is,’ Reed said. ‘Now… If you could point us to Lincoln’s room, please.’

By the time the search was completed, Reed had sealed into evidence bags, a pair of white, size twelve ASIC runners, a pair of dark blue jeans, a red and white checked, flannelette shirt and two black t-shirts.

Reed handed Valerie a copy of the property receipt listing each item seized. Valerie followed Reed and the uniform cops to her front door. She opened it and stood to the side. ‘Have a good day, Detective,’ she said in a somewhat firm, but insincere tone.

Reed nodded as he walked passed. ‘Thank you. You too,’ he said. He smirked to himself. No sooner had they stepped out onto the front porch and the front door closed firmly behind him.

‘She’ll be straight on the phone to Berenger,’ one of the uniform cops said to Reed.

‘No doubt at all,’ Reed said.

---

The ring tone chirped in Lincoln’s ear while he waited for it to answer. He chewed on a fingernail, while he paced the footpath like an expectant father.

Personal calls on the building site during work times were frowned upon, unless it was urgent. To Lincoln, this call was urgent, but to avoid being discovered, Lincoln moved to stand on the street, out front.

The call answered. ‘Hey Linc. What’s happening, mate…?’ Drew asked.

‘You got a minute, Bro…?’

‘Course. Whazzup?’

‘Do you know a Detective Sergeant Reed Campbell…?’

‘Yeah. He’s from my station. Why?’

‘Valerie just called. He and two other cops just searched my room under a search warrant. Valerie said they were investigating a murder…’

‘Murder…? What murder…?’

’Valerie said the warrant mentioned the murder of that arse ‘ole McCormack…’

‘For fuck’s sake…!’ Drew blurted. ‘I already told him you crashed at mine the night McCormack was murdered…What could he possibly be looking for at yours…?’

‘Are you saying he’s already spoken to you about me…?’

‘Yeah. He cornered me at the station a few weeks back to ask me about how I knew you. He’d seen the CCTV footage of you and me leaving The Royal together that night you were booted.’

Lincoln ran a hand across his close shaved head. ‘Why the focus on me all of a sudden…?’

‘Back then he’d heard you pushed the old bastard off his chair at the pub, the night before someone did the world a huge favour…’

‘Are you sayin’, he thinks I did it…?’

‘He couldn’t possibly… I told him that after we left the pub, we went back to mine and had some more drinks. You slept on my couch all night and you were still there the next morning…’

‘So why the fucken warrant…?’ Lincoln’s stomach churned. He paced the footpath.

‘I’m not sure…I assume they’re fishing because you had a go at McCormack the night before he was killed.’

‘Do you think I should I get a lawyer…?’

‘You haven’t done anything, Bro. Why do you need a fucken lawyer…?’

‘Maybe I’ll bounce it off Brooke. See what she thinks…’

‘Good idea, mate. She’ll be able to reassure you, you’ve got nothing to worry about. It’s just cops being cops.’

‘I hope so, mate… I’m on parole and probably seen as an easy target to these cops…’

‘They’re fishing, mate. Once they find nothing from the search of yours, they’ll move on. OK. Let me know how ya go with Brooke…’

Lincoln ended his call and buried his phone into a pocket of his orange fluoro tradie jacket.

Chapter 17

Lincoln watched the Saturday morning shoppers wandering passed his roadside café table, while he waited for Brooke. Large crowds still made him anxious, although his level of anxiety diminished with every day he spent out of prison.

He smiled to Brooke when he noticed her weaving her way through the busy sidewalk, towards him. She looked prettier every time he saw her.

Dressed in figure hugging denim jeans and a white button up shirt, tucked in on one side only, at the front, she was a sight for his sore eyes. Her long blonde hair fell loosely over her shoulders, as she strolled towards him.

While he’s as progressive as anyone his age, Lincoln grinned at the bizarre current fashion trends. Five or six years ago, button-up shirts were worn untucked, over the jeans. Roll forward, and everyone now tucks in one side of their shirt, only. It was a trend he still had to get used to.

He pushed himself up from his chair and stood as Brooke approached him.

‘Hey,’ he said. They exchanged a cheek-kiss greeting.

‘Hi Linc. Been waiting long?’

‘No. Just got here…’ They slid into their seats at the two-seater table. ‘Can I get you a coffee…’ Lincoln lifted a hand to the waitress.

‘Please… Skinny flat white, extra hot. Thanks.’

While the young waitress arranged for their orders, Lincoln mulled over how he would explain why he’d asked her out for a coffee.

‘How have you been…?’ Brooke asked. Her pleasant smile and friendly tone suggested the question was genuine, rather merely a banal ice breaker. ‘I’m so glad you called me and asked me out for a coffee…’

‘I’ve been good, Brooke…’ He nervously checked his surrounds. ‘But… I’ve got a bit going on at the moment and I’m struggling to process it all…’

Brooke’s face tightened. ‘Oh. I’m sorry to hear that… Is everything OK?’

‘Can I bounce something off you…? Would you mind?’

‘Of course not… What’s up?’

‘Do you remember when we went out for drinks a few weeks back…?’

Brooke smiled. ‘Of course. I had a ball with you guys… You’re so much fun…’

‘Do you remember I mentioned, when I was a kid, I grew up through the foster care system…?’

‘I Do.’

‘Well… There was a manager in the half-way house when I was there and he…’ Lincoln rubbed a nervous hand across his mouth. He checked over a shoulder, then leaned closer. ‘He interfered with me, while I was in there…’

Brooke’s mouth fell open. Her expression froze while she processed his comments. ‘You were sexually assaulted by someone who cared for you in this children’s home…?’ she said as a question.

Lincoln nodded. ‘I was… over a number of years.’

‘Oh my god, Lincoln. I’m so sorry to hear that. Were you thinking of charging this guy for what he did to you…? You know there is no statute of limitations on this type of offending…?’

‘See that’s the problem I have…’ Lincoln paused while the waitress delivered their coffees. He waited for her to depart, before continuing. ‘The guy who did that to me is dead…’ Brooke frowned her confusion. ‘He was murdered the day after I was released from prison…’

Brooke’s eyebrows shot up into a sharp arch. ‘Did… you-’

Lincoln shook his head. ‘It wasn’t me… I wanted to many times, believe me… But I never did anything. Am I sorry he’s dead… Not on your life. But the cops think it was me…’

‘What makes you think that?’ She sipped on her coffee.

’On my first night out, Drew and I had drinks at the Royal… quite a few drinks, actually. Towards the end of the night, I saw McCormack—that was his name—Walter McCormack, sitting down the end of the bar and my blood boiled.

‘I couldn’t stop myself. Everything he did to me flooded back. So I shoved him off his bar stool. I was going to stomp him, Brooke, but Drew pulled me away. I’m glad he did because I don’t know if I would’ve stopped, once I started.’

Brooke rested her chin on her hands. ’I see… And because of that altercation… the police think you killed him…?’

‘That’s it. He was murdered in his home in the early hours of the next morning.’

‘Do you even know where he lived…?’

‘I do…’

Brooke nodded slowly, as she processed everything. ‘What did you do after you left the Royal…?’

‘See that’s the issue. We still had more in us when I was kicked out, so Drew and I went back to his, for some more drinks. I was pretty hammered by the end, so I stayed on his couch that night.’

‘You never left Drew’s at any time…?’

‘No.’

‘Could you have left Drew’s at some time, but not remembered, due to your level of intoxication?’

Lincoln frowned. ‘I don’t know how to answer that, Brooke. If I did leave and don’t remember… I wouldn’t consciously know that I did leave…’

‘No. You’re right. Silly question.’ She giggled.

‘I woke up the next morning… feeling a little dusty. We had bacon and eggs and Drew ran me home…’

‘So… Drew was your alibi…? You were at his all night…?’

‘Correct. But that didn’t stop the cops. They executed a search warrant on my foster parent’s home and seized some of my clothes and runners…’

‘They executed a search warrant on your home…?’

‘My foster parent’s home… but yeah. Should I be worried, Brooke?’

‘Not if you didn’t do it. They’re searching for any evidence they can find. They must’ve had something to satisfy the warrant, or it wouldn’t have been approved, but because you haven’t been arrested, suggests to me they don’t have much to go on, at this time.’

‘Can they make me fit this coz I’m an ex-con…?’

’I’m going to put my prosecutor’s hat on here, Lincoln… For the police to get even close to charging you, or anyone for the crime, they have to be able locate evidence that would put you at the murder scene. DNA. Witnesses. Transfer. Hair and skin epithelial, anything that would prove you were there.

‘If they don’t find that,’ she continued. ‘They won’t get passed square one. You have a very solid alibi, so they have to be able to prove the alibi is false. And with Drew being a credible cop…’ She raised her eyebrows as she sat back in her chair. ‘Good luck with that…’

‘So do you think I have anything to worry about with this warrant…?’

‘Not if you didn’t do it. No. Has a murder weapon been found…?’

Lincoln shrugged. ‘I have no idea…’

‘Then unless they found the murder weapon with your prints on it, during their search… I’d say you’ve got nothing to worry about.’

‘There’s more I should tell you about this…’

‘OK…’

‘When McCormack was… doing what he did to me… I reported it to his boss. The boss said he conducted an investigation, but my allegations couldn’t be proven. So the boss did nothing. Nothing happened to McCormack and he continued doing what he was doing to me…’

Brooke shook her head. It was difficult to discern if it was sympathy or disappointment from what she heard.

’Here’s the kicker… That boss was found murdered last week.’

Brooke rolled her eyes. ’And they are trying to pin that on you, as well…?’ she said as a question.

‘They haven’t yet… But I’m expecting they will any minute now…’

’I can understand why they would consider you a person of interest, if they knew you had been interfered with by that man and when you reported it, the boss did nothing. But I still say the same thing… they need to place you at the scenes. Where were you on the night the boss was murdered? Do you remember…?’

‘That, I’m not so sure. I don’t know the exact date he was killed, but I think it was the night the three of us went out. After we left you at the pub, we went back to Drews and I crashed on his couch.’

‘Well, there you go. Depending on what time the murder occurred, I was with you until, what… one-ish. Then you were with Drew until the next morning.’ She waved a hand. ‘I wouldn’t worry about it, Linc. They don’t have anything on you, because you didn’t do it…’

‘I appreciate that, Brooke. You’ve taken a load off my mind.’

Brooke pointed to the empty cups on their table. ‘Do you want to go again…?’

‘Why not.’ Lincoln lifted a hand to the waitress.

---

Reed’s Boss, Alan was reading a report when Reed knocked on the office door and wandered in. Alan lifted his eyes to his visitor.

‘What’s up…?’ Alan asked.

Reed slid into the visitor’s chair at the desk. He couldn’t contain his smile. ‘We’ve got him, Alan. We’ve got him…’ Reed lifted up the report he held.

‘Who…? Berenger…?’

‘Yep. The sandshoes we seized were a match to the shoe prints left at McCormack’s crime scene.’

‘Excellent. Hard for him to deny he was there…’

‘It gets better…’ Reed said. A proud grin emerged out the side of his face. Alan leaned on his elbows. ‘Samples of blood splatter were located on Berenger’s red flannelette shirt that we seized, as well as in the tongue and laces of the ASIC runners. Analysis confirmed the blood to be a 99.85% match to McCormack’s DNA.’

‘OK. So run me through what we have on him, now…’

Reed bent back a finger. ‘Berenger can be linked to McCormack at McKillop House, where Berenger alleged sexual assault by McCormack.’ He bent back a second finger. ‘The murder of McCormack was an over kill, most likely revenge.’ Reed bent back a third finger. ’Security footage from Fleming Street captured a man with a limping gait, dressed in a red shirt, dark pants and white runners, enter and later leave McCormack’s property.

‘CCTV from The Royal on the same night captured Berenger wearing these same clothes and he walked with a limp.’ He bent back a fourth finger. ’Clothes matching those depicted in the security footage were seized from Berenger’s bedroom and analysed.

‘The analysis located McCormack’s blood on the shirt and shoes and the shoes matched the distinctive shoe print left at the scene. This puts Berenger inside McCormack’s house on the night of the murder.’

’But it doesn’t prove he killed McCormack. The evidence just shows he was there… maybe as an accomplice. Could someone else have stabbed him…?’

‘No…’ Reed firmly shook his head. ‘There isn’t anyone else. The security footage from across the street showed only one person entering and one person leaving McCormack’s address…’ Reed argued. ‘And that was Berenger…’

’What about North…? He provided Berenger with a solid alibi and now the evidence proved Berenger was at the scene…’

‘I’m gunna have a chat to him about that. I need to be satisfied North did not provide a false alibi, to protect his friend…or worse… was involved…’

What about the second murder of English? Didn’t you mention he also worked at McKillop House?’

‘He did. He was McCormack’s boss while Berenger was there. We can connect Berenger to English, and argue a motive, but at this stage, there is no evidence to put him at English’s house on the night English was murdered.’

‘So, we’re strong on the McCormack murder and only have weak circumstantial, on English…?’

‘Correct. I’m gunna bring Berenger in and let him explain the shoe print left at the scene and McCormack’s blood on his clothing…’ Reed said.

Chapter 18

The morning shift van crews were chilling with their coffees before their 7am shift started, when Reed wandered into the police station kitchen. The morning-shift uniform Sergeant followed close behind.

Reed had earlier informed the morning-shift sergeant of his requirement to interview Drew, as a witness, in an ongoing murder investigation. Due to Reed’s short notice, the Shift Sergeant himself, had to fill the void on the van, until Drew’s interview had finished.

The shift sergeant pushed passed Reed, after they entered the kitchen. The sergeant scanned the room. ‘North…’ he announced, when he located Drew. He jabbed a thumb over his shoulder. ‘I need you to go with Reed. I’ll cover until you’ve finished. OK,’ he directed.

Drew frowned. His questioning eyes flicked to Reed. ‘Sure…’ he said. Drew pushed himself up from the table and stood. He handed the sergeant the van’s keys, then said to Reed, ‘What’s up, Reed-O…?’

Reed jabbed his head towards the door. ‘Let’s go have a chat…’ Reed exited the kitchen. Drew followed.

After navigating the labyrinth of internal corridors, Reed stopped at an interview room. He opened the door and stood to the side; an unspoken instruction for Drew to enter first. Reed followed and gestured to a chair. ‘Have a seat, mate.’

‘What’s this about…?’ Drew asked. He slid into a chair then leaned his elbows on the table.

Reed closed the door. He dumped his folder onto the table and slid into the chair opposite Drew. ‘It’s about the McCormack murder I’m investigating…’ Reed began. ’You’ll recall we spoke previously about the night of the 14th of last month when you and Lincoln Berenger were ejected from The Royal…’ Drew nodded his understanding.

‘You told me that you and Berenger went back to your place… had a few more drinks, then Berenger crashed on your couch. You said he was there the next morning… Do you recall?’

‘Yep. That’s exactly what happened.’

‘Berenger has now become a person of interest in my investigation-’

‘I thought he already was…’

Reed paused at the interruption. ‘So, it is vitally important that you are completely accurate and honest with the information you provide me about that night. Do you understand?’

‘Completely understand. That’s exactly how it happened…’

Reed opened his folder. He shuffled some pages around, read from some notes, then asked, ‘what time did you guys go to bed after the drinks back at yours, after being ejected from the Royal on the 14th…?’

‘I honestly have no idea. It had been a big night?’ Drew grinned proudly at their achievement.

‘Run me through what happened from when you guys got back to yours, until you retired for the night.’

Drew frowned. ‘Mate… That was weeks ago…’

Reed held a firm, disapproving glare at Drew. His unspoken word was clear. He wasn’t accepting that evasive response.

Drew rolled his eyes and continued. ‘Um… OK. We had quite a few more drinks… Lincoln was nodding off. Um… I went and grabbed some blankets for Linc. I think Linc was heading off to take a piss, at the time. I told him the blankets were on the couch for him and to turn the light off when he went to bed.’

Reed scribbled some notes. ’Did you see Berenger go to bed on your couch, after you went to bed…?’

‘He was there in the morning when I got up…He was still fast asleep.’

‘Did-you-see-Berenger-go-to-bed-on-your-couch-after-you-went-to-bed?’ Reed repeated firmly.

‘No. I went to sleep. I never left my room during the night, until I got up the next morning.’

‘Did you hear anything during that night that would suggest someone had entered, or left your unit?’

‘No. I was pretty hammered.’

‘Right… So how can you say that Berenger never left your unit at some time during the night…?’

‘I suppose I can’t.’

‘But you provided Berenger with an alibi that he was at your place all night and was still there the next morning…’’

‘That’s right.’

‘Truth is… you have no idea what Berenger did after you went to bed… do you?’ Reed didn’t wait for a response. ‘He could’ve left your unit at any time during the night and you wouldn’t have known. Is that correct?’

‘I suppose it is.’

Reed shook a firm head. ‘No. There’s no “suppose” about it, mate. It’s a Yes-No question. Could Berenger have left your unit, after you went to bed, and you didn’t hear him…?’

Drew shrugged and turned up his palms. ‘I supp—.’ He cut himself off. ‘Yes,’ he said firmly. ‘He could’ve left, but I doubt he did.’

‘You have no idea whether he left or not, so please keep your answers to what you can factually say. Understood?’

‘Understood.’

‘As far as you are aware… did Berenger know where McCormack lived…?’

‘I think so…’

Reed rolled his eyes at the non-committal response. He glared at Drew. ‘You think so…’ He repeated. ‘Why do you think so?’

‘When we were kids, I lived close to where I live now…We went to McCormack’s to throw rocks on his roof, knock on his door and run, and that sort of kid shit…’

’So, when you said, “I think so”, you mean, yes, he knew where McCormack lived.

‘Yes.’

‘Was Berenger still living at McKillop house when you did this to McCormack…?’

‘No. He’d left. He was at his foster home.’

‘Why did you both single out McCormack for this type of behaviour?’

‘Just kids being kids, I suppose.’

‘No other motivating reason…?’

‘No. I don’t think so…’

‘Did Berenger ever tell you about his time in McKillop House?’

‘Yeah. He talked about it all the time. He hated it there.’

‘Did he ever talk to you about McCormack sexually assaulting him, while he lived at McKillop House…?’

Drew sat back in his chair. He held Reed’s glare. He appeared to be carefully selecting his words. ‘He did, actually.’

‘What did he say happened?’

‘Look… I’m not comfortable trying to repeat what he said because I don’t want to get Linc into any trouble, in case I incorrectly recall what he told me fifteen years ago.’ Drew punctuated his comment by firmly crossing his arms.

‘You’ve known Berenger a long time…?’ Reed said as a question.

‘Twenty years, on and off.’

‘What would you say if I told you we have evidence that places Berenger at McCormack’s on the night McCormack was murdered?’

‘I’d say you’re mistaken. I’d say you’ve got the wrong bloke. Linc hated McCormack. But he’s no killer. Besides… He was on my couch all night…’

Reed reviewed the notes he took during their chat. ‘OK. This is what’s going to happen. I’m going to write up our discussion here today into a statement. When it’s done, I’ll get you back in here to read it and sign it. OK?’

‘OK.’

‘Now…’ Reed began firmly. ‘You are not to discuss any part of our conversation here today with Berenger. Do I make myself clear?’

‘Crystal.’

‘If you do, I will have no hesitation in charging you for hindering a murder investigation…’

‘I said, Crystal…!’ Drew repeated firmly. ‘OK…’ he held Reed’s glare. ‘I’m not the crook here, mate… There’s no need for fucken threats…’

Reed jabbed a thumb at the door. ‘OK. I’ll let you get back to your div van. Thanks for your time.’

Reed watched Drew push himself up from his chair and slowly exit the interview room. He had what he needed. Drew’s alibi for Berenger had more holes than Swiss cheese.

Berenger knew where McCormack lived. He could easily have left Drew’s during the night, killed McCormack, then returned to the couch. The opportunity was there. The motive was there and he was more than capable.

It was time to bring Berenger in.

Chapter 19

Lincoln’s boss, Bear, rummaged through the tool box mounted on the back of his ute. He grabbed a fresh clip of nails for his nail gun.

When he closed the side lid to his tool box, his attention was drawn to the two police vehicles that arrived and parked behind his ute.

Bear watched with curious interest as a detective alighted from the unmarked sedan and the two uniform cops climbed out of the marked van. They made their way to Bear’s building site—a towering, double storey of timber framework.

Bear lifted a hand to the cops. ‘You blokes right…?’ His abrupt tone reflected his disrespect for cops. The cops stopped on the footpath, near the entry to the building site. Bear approached.

Reed flicked a finger at the timber house frame. ‘It’s all good…We’re here to talk to Lincoln Berenger.’ He commenced to enter the site.

Bear stepped in front of Reed and thrust out his barrel chest. ‘You’re not going anywhere, pal…’ Bear blurted. ’This is my building site.’ He jabbed a finger at the sign mounted on the boundary cyclone wire fence. ‘See that sign… It says, “No entry without permission”.’ He placed defiant hands on his hips.

Reed exchanged a “do you believe this guy” glance with the uniform cops. ‘You don’t understand… We’re here to—.’

‘Nah, mate… It’s you who doesn’t understand.’ Bear circled a hand in front of himself. ‘Out here… you get to say what goes on…’ He jabbed a thumb over his shoulder. ‘But in there…I’m the law. Got it…?’

’We’re here to arrest Lincoln Berenger. If you get in our way you will be arrested for hindering police. Got it…?’ Reed emphasized. His sarcasm was lost on bear.

’You step one foot inside that building site, boy-o and you’re gunna have to arrest me.’ Bear closed the distance between him and Reed. ‘Coz I’ll knock ya fucken head off, to protect my boys and my site.’ His fiery glare was intimidating, even to Reed.

Reed took a step back to create distance between the two of them. ‘We’re going to get him, mate.’ He gestured to the uniform cops at his side. ‘Go and get Berenger.’

One of the cops commenced to enter the building site. Bear lunged at the cop and aggressively shoved him back towards the street. The cop reeled backwards several steps.

The second uniform cop rushed at Bear, to detain him for assault. Bear turned to the approaching cop, and with the deft hands of a trained boxer, he delivered a fast, left-right combination to the approaching cop’s jaw.

The young cop never saw the powerful blows coming. The first punch knocked him out on his feet. The second sent him down hard. He bounced on contact with the footpath.

The first cop who Bear earlier pushed away, pulled out his Taser Gun.‘Taser. Taser…!’ he yelled, then fired at Bear. The electrodes embedded into Bear’s chest.

Bear’s body went rigid, like he stood to attention, while 50,000 volts of electricity surged through the big man. His spasming muscles failed him. Bear collapsed heavily to the ground, completely defenceless and unable to move.

The cop who fired the taser, disarmed the electrodes then quickly dropped a solid knee into Bear’s upper back to secure him, while he applied handcuffs.

While this took place, Lincoln worked among the upper floor roof trusses and timber frames. When he heard the commotion coming from the street, he stepped across the ceiling joists, to the front of the house.

He arrived in time to see Bear on the ground, with a cop kneeling on his back. He frowned at what he saw. What the fuck… He clambered down from the roof trusses, onto the scaffolding and down to the ground.

Lincoln quickly made his way to the street. He exited the building site and moved towards the cops on the footpath, out front.

One cop sat on the ground. His face was pale and he held his head in his hand. Reed had squatted down beside this cop, handing him a bottle of water.

‘What’s going on…?’ Lincoln asked. He glared at the cop kneeling on Bear’s back. He flicked a hand at Bear. ‘Is that necessary…?’

Reed pushed himself up to meet the approaching Lincoln. ‘It is…’ Reed said.

‘What’s he done to deserve that treatment…?’

Reed gestured to the young cop seated on the ground. ‘He just KO’d one of my officers. So, he’s under arrest for assaulting police…’

Lincoln nodded his understanding. He stood with his hands on his hips while he watched Bear being loaded into the back of the police van. Bear didn’t look well at all. Lincoln lifted his chin to the police van. ‘So… now you’re gunna lock him up…?’

‘We are…’ Reed’s eyes fell to Lincoln’s lower leg. He flicked a finger at Lincoln’s foot. ‘I noticed your limp… What have you done there…?’

‘Ah…’ Lincoln waved the back of his hand. ‘That’s from an old broken ankle…’ Lincoln said, matter of fact. ‘Are you gunna charge him?’

‘Yes…’

‘So… I assume you’re here to arrest me, too…?’

‘Why would you think that…?’

‘Call me psychic…’

‘As a matter of fact… We are,’ Reed said. He cautioned Lincoln about his rights, while he applied handcuffs.’

After searching Lincoln for any sharp objects or weapons, Lincoln was also loaded into the back of the police van. With Lincoln and Bear secured in the back, they were conveyed to the Cumberland Police Station.

---

The interview room door creaked when Reed entered. He placed a cup of freshly made coffee in front of Lincoln. ‘White and two…’ he confirmed, then slid into the chair opposite.

‘Cheers,’ Lincoln said.

Shortly after arriving at the police station, Reed provided Lincoln with the opportunity to call a lawyer. He called Brooke.

Brooke explained to Lincoln that she was not a defence lawyer and as such, she could not represent him to defend any charges. However, she offered to attend, as a legal advisor, to ensure his rights were not violated during the interview process.

About the size of a small bedroom, the windowless interview room in which they sat, was fitted out with a rectangular table with two chairs on each side. A police video recording unit sat at the end of the table.

Lincoln and Brooke sat on the side of the table, furthest from the door, while Reed and his corroborating colleague sat opposite. A flat screen monitor stood on a trolley, off to the side of Lincoln.

Prior to commencing the recording, Reed ran Lincoln through the process that was to follow. When he was finished, he hit record on the unit.

Reed ran through the standard introductions and explanations as to why the interview was being conducted. For the purpose of the interview recording, he satisfied his requirements that Lincoln’s legal rights had been met. These included his right to have a lawyer present and the right to be able to notify family or a friend of his whereabouts.

Reed commenced with the standard opening identity questions, for Lincoln to provide his name, date of birth, address and occupation, as well as confirmation he was not of Aboriginal, or Torres Strait Islander heritage.

Following this, Reed issued Lincoln with his formal caution with regards to his rights not to answer any questions, unless he chose to do so.

Reed removed Lincoln’s mobile phone from a plastic evidence bag and placed it on the table. He opened the folder in front of himself and slid out a document.

‘When we arrested you out at your work site, you’ll recall that I took possession of your mobile phone because, as I mentioned to you at the time, I believed it contained evidence in the commission of a serious indicatable offence…’

Lincoln shook a disagreeing head. ‘Like I said then, knock yourself out. There’s nothing on there to interest you, unless you like a dick pic, or two.’ He grinned to himself.

‘Before I can examine the contents of your phone, I need you to unlock it…’

Lincoln’s focus shifted to Brooke, seated beside him. He raised questioning eyebrows. ‘Do I have to unlock it…?’

Brooke shook her head. ‘Not if you don’t want to.’

‘If I refuse… will that make me look bad in the eyes of the courts…?’ he quietly asked Brooke.

‘No. It’s your right to refuse to unlock your mobile phone…’ Brooke paused. Her eyes fell to the document in Reed’s hand. ‘Unless, of course… there is a court order in place,’ Brooke said.

Lincoln nodded his understanding. His gaze met Reed’s. ‘I think I’ll pass.’ He lifted a hand to Reed. ‘It’s nothing personal, detective… I’m just not comfortable with you going through my phone.’

‘I understand,’ Reed said. He slid the document across the table to Brooke. As she examined it, Reed explained to Lincoln what it was. ’

That is an order from the Cumberland Magistrate’s Court that compels you to provide me with the unlock code for your mobile phone.’

Lincoln leaned closer to Brooke. ‘What if I refuse?’ Lincoln said quietly.

Brooke leaned in closer to Lincoln. ‘If you refuse you would be held in contempt of court…’ she said in a quiet voice. Lincoln frowned his confusion. ‘That means, you can be locked up until such time as you provide the unlock code to your phone.’

Lincoln fell back in his chair, defeated. He shook his head. ‘Unbelievable…’ he said.

‘Are you prepared to provide me with the unlock code for your mobile phone?’

‘I don’t have a choice, do I?’

Brooke leaned in and whispered to Lincoln, in a tone inaudible to anyone, other than Lincoln. ‘This is being recorded… You have to answer yes, or no to providing him with your code.’

Lincoln nodded his reluctant understanding. ‘Yes.’ He said firmly.

Reed lifted a pen and held it poised over a note pad. His ‘when you’re ready’ eyes lifted to Lincoln.

Lincoln tightly crossed his arms in protest. ‘8-3-4-1,’ he said firmly, through gritted teeth.

It was uncomfortable, if not a little violating, to be forced to provide his personal information, so a stranger could trawl through his phone.

Reed noted the number. He keyed the number into Lincoln’s mobile phone, to check it unlocked the phone. It did.

‘Thank you…’

Chapter 20

The interview had progressed well, from Reed’s perspective. He was surprised at how Lincoln chose to answer all questions put to him, to this point.

During his questioning so far, Reed established a link between Lincoln and McCormack, through Lincoln’s time spent as a resident at McKillop House. Lincoln identified McCormack as the house supervisor, in charge of all residents.

Reed continued his questioning.

‘I have information from McKillop House that indicated you made a complaint against Walter McCormack, when you were residing at McKillop House. What do you say to that?’

‘I did.’

‘To whom did you make the complaint?’

‘His boss, at the time…’

‘Who was that…?’

‘Can’t remember.’

‘Was Walter’s boss, Mark English?’

Lincoln’s eyes lifted upwards. ’I think that was his name. It’s a long time ago. I was just a kid then.’

‘What was the basis of your complaint against Walter McCormack…?’

‘I’d rather not say.’

‘Was the reason for your complaint against Walter McCormack because he sexually assaulted you, while you lived at McKillop House?’

‘I’d rather not say.’

‘What happened after you made the complaint to Walter’s boss…?’

‘Nothing.’

‘What do you mean, “Nothing”?’

‘Nothing… Nothing happened.’

‘The information I have received is Walter’s boss investigated the allegations you made against Walter McCormack and found they were unsubstantiated. Is that correct?’

Lincoln glared at Reed. ‘Unsubstantiated…!’ He blurted. Lincoln jabbed a finger, generally to his left. His face distorted. ‘He didn’t make any investigation… He did jack shit. He could’ve stopped him, but he didn’t. He did nothing…He just—.’

Brooke placed a calming hand on Lincoln’s forearm. His eyes fell to the hand and he cut himself off.

‘What do you mean when you said, “he could’ve stopped him,”?’

‘No comment.’ Lincoln firmly crossed his arms. His face glowed a shade of puce.

‘Stopped Walter from doing what, exactly…?’

‘No comment.’

‘You didn’t like Walter McCormack, did you Lincoln?’

Lincoln glared at Reed. It was evident the mention of McCormack’s name still hit a raw nerve with Lincoln.

‘No-comment…’ he replied firmly.

’On the 14th of September 2021, you had an altercation with Walter McCormack at the Royal Hotel, whereby it was alleged that you pushed him off his bar stool. What do you say to that?’

‘Correct.’

‘Why did you do that?’

‘No comment.’

I would suggest that you would not have seen Walter McCormack for at least five years, quite probably more. Yet when you saw him on the night of the 14th of September 2021, he angered you for some reason. Why was that?’

‘No comment.’

’Who were you drinking with at the Royal hotel with on 14 September 2021?

‘Drew North.’

‘Had you consumed much alcohol at the Royal Hotel?’

‘Yes. Quite a bit actually, considering I hadn’t touched alcohol for around six years…’

‘I’d like you to take a look at the TV screen to your left, there please, Lincoln, while I play you something.’ Reed pressed play on a remote control. The CCTV footage of Lincoln and Drew, outside the Royal Hotel played on the screen.

The footage played until they climbed into an Uber and it drove away. Reed stopped the playback.

‘Did you recognise the people in that footage I just showed you?’

‘Of course. That was me and Drew…’

‘I noted you were wearing a red flannelette shirt over a dark t-shirt and white runners…’

‘Yeah…So…?’

‘I also noted that you walked with a limp. Why was that?’

‘I told you before. I broke me ankle and the surgeon fused it.’

‘So… Is your limp permanent…?’

‘It’s as good as it gets.’

‘Where did you go after you left the Royal Hotel, with Drew North?’

‘Back to Drew’s…’

‘How long did you stay there?’

‘All night. I stayed on his couch.’

‘Did you leave Drew’s place at any time during that night…?’

‘Nope. I was hammered. Slept like a baby.’

’I’d like you to look at the TV screen again while I play you some more footage. Reed hit PLAY. The neighbour’s security footage from Fleming Street commenced to play.

When the mysterious person entered the screen from the left side and limped across the screen, Reed hit pause. Do you recognise that person on the screen.

Lincoln moved his head closer to the screen and squinted at the grainy image. ‘Nuh. Should I?’

’That person is wearing the same clothes you wore at the Royal Hotel—a red shirt, dark pants and white runners and walks with a limp. This footage was from outside Walter McCormack’s house taken at 3.18am on 14 September 2021. This was around three hours after you left the Royal Hotel. Is that person you…?’

‘Why would it be me?’

‘Same clothes. Same distinctive limp.’

‘l’m betting I’m not the only person in this town who limps…’

Reed opened a folder on the table in front of him and slid out a photograph. ‘When we executed a search warrant on your address, I seized a pair of white runners. Size twelve, ASICS…’

He slid the photo across the table to Lincoln. Lincoln briefly eyed the photo, then lifted his eyes back to Reed.

Reed removed a second photo and slid it across the table. ‘That is a photo of the sole of your white runners…’ Reed said. Lincoln’s eyes fell to the photo. Reed gestured to the photo with his pen. ‘You have a very unusual wear pattern on your sole, there. The outside third of the entire sole has worn bare of any tread pattern. Why is that?’

‘I walk on the sides of my feet. It should’ve been corrected when I was younger… but nobody picked it up. So consequently, I wear out all my shoes on the outside of the soles.’

Reed nodded his understanding. ‘I see.’ Reed removed a third photograph. He examined it briefly before he placed it on the table and slid it across to Lincoln.

‘This is a crime scene photo from Walter McCormack’s house. It is of a shoe print that was left in Walter McCormack’s blood…’ Lincoln examined the photo. Brooke leaned across and did the same.

‘You will note that the sole print that was left in blood shows a clearly defined sole pattern, that being, the outside third of the sole is missing in the shoe print that was left in the blood… Just like on your runners here, Lincoln.’ Reed lifted the first photo of Lincoln’s white ASICS.

Reed removed four more photos from his file. ‘These photos depicted the same blood-stained sole print, in various locations throughout Walter McCormack’s house.’

Lincoln and Brooke examined the photographs. Reed removed a document and slid it across the table. ‘That is a statement from the shoe manufacturer—ASIC, in which they identified the shoe print left in blood to be from a size twelve ASIC runner…The same as your shoes Lincoln.’

Lincoln pushed the photo away. ‘So…’

Reed slid out two more photographs. He placed one on the table in front of Lincoln. ‘This is a photograph of your red shirt that we seized during the search warrant…’

’Lincoln looked at the photo on the table. Brooke did the same. ‘OK.’ He shrugged his disinterest. So…?’

‘A forensic analysis of your shirt located blood splatter on the shirt. The blood was analysed and found to be a 99.85% match to Walter McCormack’s DNA.’ Brooke glared at Lincoln. ‘How did Walter McCormack’s blood get on your shirt?’

‘I have no idea,’ Lincoln said. He looked to Brooke and held out upturned palms. He shook his head in denial.

Reed pushed the second photo across the table to Lincoln. ’This is a photo of the top of the tongue of your white ASIC runners, the area under the shoe laces.’ Lincoln examined the photo.

‘You will note in the folds of the tongue there are dried blood drops. These drops were analysed and were found to be a 99.85% match to Walter McCormack’s DNA. How did Walter McCormack’s blood get into your shoes, Lincoln?’

Lincoln met Brooke’s fierce glare. ‘I’m telling you… I had nothing to do with this, Brooke…’ He pushed the photo away.

Brooke’s face tightened. She collapsed back in her chair and crossed her arms. She was defeated.

‘I put it to you Lincoln that when you were at McKillop House, Walter McCormack sexually assaulted you… on more than one occasion. What do you say to that?’

‘No comment.’

‘I also put it to you that when you saw Walter McCormack at the Royal Hotel on 14 September 2021, the anger you had towards him, because of what he did to you at McKillop House, came flooding back in an uncontrollable rage and you attacked him. What do you say to that?’

‘No comment.’

‘I also put it you that when you went back to Drew’s house after you were ejected from the Royal Hotel, you waited until Drew fell asleep and you walked to Walter McCormack’s house and killed Walter McCormack… What do you say to that?’

‘I never killed him…’

‘Did you know where Walter McCormack lived?’

‘I had no idea… So how could I kill him?’

‘Are you sure about that?’

‘Absolutely.’

Reed slid out a statement from his file and briefly ran his eyes over it. ‘This is a copy of a statement made by Drew North…’ Reed began. He flipped through the pages. When he found what he searched for, he passed the statement across to Lincoln. ‘Read out the highlighted text, please.’

Lincoln lifted the statement. He read the highlighted text to himself, then rolled his eyes. He shook his head and lowered the statement. Reed extended a hand to Lincoln. It was a silent message to read it out.

Lincoln lifted the statement and read, “When we were kids around twelve or thirteen years old, Lincoln and I used to go over to McCormack’s house and throw rocks on his roof, knock on his door and run, and that sort of annoying kid stuff. We did it because Lincoln hated Walter McCormack.’’

‘Thank you. That’s enough.’ Lincoln passed the statement back to Reed.

’For the record… We both hated him.’

‘Why did you hate Walter McCormack?’

‘No comment.’

’OK. So, based on the statement from Mr North, you did know where Walter lived. Is that correct…?’

Lincoln scratched his temple. ‘I suppose I did. I’d just forgotten. It was so long ago that we did that,’

‘McCormack’s house was conveniently about two streets away, or around five hundred metres, from Drew’s place, where you stayed on the morning of 15 September 2021. This was the same morning Walter was killed. What do you say to that?’

Lincoln buried his head into his hands. He dragged his hands across his shaved head. His eyes met Brooke’s fierce glare. He held his hands out to the side. ‘I didn’t do this, Brooke. You’ve got to believe me.’

‘How does alcohol affect you, Lincoln?’

‘I don’t know. Makes me pissed. I feel tired. I don’t know.’

‘Is it possible when you are heavily intoxicated… you do things that you can’t remember, when you’ve sobered up…?’

‘I don’t know…’

‘Did you kill Walter McCormack?’

Lincoln dumped his elbows on the table and rested his head in his hands. ‘No!’ Lincoln’s head shot up. He glared at Reed. ‘He really fucked me up…you know…’ Lincoln said. Tears welled in Lincoln’s eyes. ‘I was just a kid, for fuck’s sake…’ His lower lip quivered. He quickly caught an escaping tear. ‘I was just a…’ his words trailed off, as his eyes fell heavily.

Through his long career, Reed had witnessed first-hand the psychological damage paedophiles did to their young victims, often still prevalent many years after the abuse ceased. Lincoln was clearly no exception.

Many victims he’d encountered had taken their own lives, as adults. Others were unable to form lasting relationships. Some victims he knew had become violent offenders, all as a direct result of the abuse they encountered as young children.

Reed despised Paedophiles, not just because of what they did, but also because of the trail of destruction they caused to their victims’ lives.

These poor souls never had a chance to plot the course of their own lives. The paedophiles took that away from them, along with their innocence.

When a victim of a paedophile executed their abuser, in a way similar to how Lincoln did, those victims didn’t deem it murder… they viewed it as the justifiable administration of justice; their justice.

Part of Reed’s sympathy even condoned the action, as justified. He’d never admit it, but there had been many a time when he’d arrested a predatory paedophile, where he had to restrain himself from putting a bullet in their brain.

But, while he held enormous sympathy for Lincoln, his badge and his oath wouldn’t allow him to turn a blind eye. Murder was murder and he had no choice but to see this through.

Reed tidied up the interview with a few more questions to Lincoln, before he informed Lincoln he was being charged with the murder of Walter McCormack. The interview concluded a short time later.