Detective West
A small wooden cabin comes into view. A soft patio light provides a visual of the front door and an old rusted table at its side.
“We’re going in,” Roland whispers through the radio. There’s no reply. Radio silence is maintained by all units as requested.
I point to the right, then to myself, then to the SERT team before circling my finger in the air. Each officer moves in the exact direction they should without me speaking a single word. I nod to Roland, who shifts to my blind spot to cover any threat, while the five remaining officers flank us.
One step in front of the other. Our feet make no sound. We’re trained to hunt predators and to deliver the element of surprise.
Three stairs leading to the patio, and a distance of about one metre stands between me and the front door. I flick my head to my right, place two fingers to my eyes, then point to three separate officers. Their mission: to stay at the bottom of the stairs with their rifles aimed at the door. They are my eyes on the ground, and they won’t hesitate to shoot if necessary. They waste no time in following my unspoken command.
One, two, three steps I take, with Roland right behind me, still covering any threat. I lift my leg and launch it straight into the wood. The door bursts open.
“What the fuck?” he yells. A tall, broad man wearing camouflage throws his arms high into the air. He shakes his head as I aim my revolver directly at his chest.
“Winston Sampson?” I’m calm.
“Yes.”
“Detective Astin West from Rockhampton CBI. Do you have a weapon on your person?”
“Yes.”
“Please disarm yourself. Slowly.”
Only one of his arms lowers past his hair that appears to be clumped with mud, before continuing by his blue eyes that shine under bright lighting. He stops when he reaches his waist. “I’m going to put my hand behind my back to get my pistol.”
“Don’t do anything stupid.”
His hand disappears until it slowly reappears by his hip, holding a black Glock.
“Put it on the ground, slowly,” I instruct.
Winston gingerly bends his knees, leaving one hand placed behind his head, sliding the gun across the floorboards before resuming his upright position.
“Do you have any more weapons on your person?” My voice rises a fraction.
“No.”
“Step back,” I demand.
He does.
“Search him.” I relax my grip on my weapon and some of the tension in my shoulders as Roland marches towards our suspect.
“Turn around,” Roland commands. “Hands behind your head, legs spread.”
“What is this about?” Winston says as he stands with his fingers linked behind his head and widens his stance.
Neither of us reply.
I don’t take my eyes from the pat-down taking place. Instead, I remain alert for any possible threats that might come my partner's way. Roland completes his examination upon reaching Winston’s muddy boots.
“I have rights. Am I under arrest? What have I done?”
Neither of us answer.
Roland rises, nodding in my direction. “He’s clear.”
It’s what I was waiting for him to say. Winston isn’t harbouring anything else harmful inside his clothing.
I lower my gun and place it back in the holster, knowing I’m protected by the two highly trained SERT officers at my back. They won’t lower their rifles. Instead, they’ll keep them aimed at Winston’s chest, ready to deliver a bullet if needed.
“Do you know Morgan Banks?” I stand stoically. I’m in command, and if this thing blows up, it’s all on my head. After all, it’s not normal practice for a country town detective to lead a tactical crime team in the first place. I’m just fortunate that Eli, who controls all special emergency, was in my unit when I used to run my own SERT team years ago.
“No. I don’t.”
“Are you sure?”
“I don’t know her.” Winston’s hands remain pressed against the back of his skull. His legs are still parted from the search.
“She’s a local woman who’s gone missing. She’s also a wife of a client whose car you detail.”
“I don’t know her.” His lips are pursed.
“I don’t believe you. Morgan’s also the ex-girlfriend of your brother Falcon Sampson.”
His eyes widen. “Morgan. As in, Falcon’s high school girlfriend, Morgan? Morgan?”
“Yes,” I say.
“I know her then.” He exhales. “I haven’t seen her for a very long time though, not since Falcon finished school. She’s missing?”
“Since Thursday night. Where were you Thursday night between the hours of five and eight?”
He lifts his chin slightly and turns his eyes to look towards the ceiling. He stays in this position for almost a minute before he returns his attention back to me. “Thursday was the night we got that storm. It’s what had me delayed in going hunting.” He pauses. “I was at work. I left work late, and then I came home. I would have been driving home in that timeframe.”
“You didn’t stop on your way to get petrol or meet up with anyone?” He’s lying, but I need to give him a chance to rearrange his thoughts before I slap on the cuffs and get his arse hauled down to the station.
He shakes his head. “No. No, not Thursday night.” His eyes narrow when he stops speaking. “Actually, yes, I did. I stopped to help some lady fix a tyre ... an SUV, it was.”
“Morgan’s tyre?”
His lips part. His eyes bulge. “Nah. Mate, you’ve got this wrong. That was Morgan?”
“Yes.”
“I had no clue. Shit, it’s been more than ten years since I’ve seen her. Fuck! Hang on. No, no, no, you ain’t pinning this shit on me.” He’s immediately agitated. He drops his arms to his sides. “Mate. No. I didn’t take that woman.” He points to my chest. “I’ve been out fucking Whoop Whoop since early Friday morning. Search my shit. I had nothing to do with any lady going missing, let alone someone who dated my brother. I’ve got nothing to hide.”
“Winston Sampson, this is a warrant to search your house, land, and vehicles.” Roland holds the warrant out in front of him, and Winston takes it gently from his pinched fingers.
“Search away.” Winston’s shoulders slump as Roland retrieves the handcuffs from his belt.
“Come on. You don’t need to cuff me. By now you must know who I used to be and what I used to do. There’s no need for the cuffs. I’m not going to bolt. I’ll tell you what you want to know. Search. I’ve got nothing to hide.”
“Ex-military, and a runner for the mafia,” I prod.
He drops his head. “I’m not proud of my past. Look, I live out here away from society and keep to myself. I-I … That life is well and truly behind me.”
“Vactrim Blight?” I keep my statements short and to the point, letting him talk, giving him a moment to slip up.
He lifts his head and grins. “Yeah. That’s me. It’s easier than people finding out who I used to be, you know. Even though my work for the underworld wasn’t disclosed, people still find ways to figure out who Winston Sampson was. Bloody mafia groupies hunt you down, even aeons later.”
I shake my head towards Roland, who instantly slaps the handcuffs around his wrists.
“Come on. Seriously?” Winston sighs.
“Groupies?” I continue my questioning.
He nods. “Women who want to marry you. Men who want to be you. Take your pick.”
The radio is in my hand. “Team red, begin searching from the lake outwards. Team yellow and green, begin your search in surrounding property. Team blue, search the vehicles and house.”
There’s a moment of silence.
“Team red, understood.
“Team green, beginning search.
“Team yellow, beginning search.
“Team blue, coming in.”
“Shit.” Winston cocks his eyebrows. “I knew you’d have me well and truly surrounded.” He shakes his head. “I come back early because Luna radios me to tell me there’s been a fire, possibly near my land, and I'm confronted with this bullshit. Fuck my life,” he mutters.
“Fire?” My shoulders stiffen.
“Punk kids do it all the time. Come into the bush and start spot fires that get out of hand. You guys should be thanking us. We put most of them out ourselves, as quick as they start. Someone has to stop a massive bushfire.”
“Whose Luna?”
“A hermit that lives a few properties over. She’s been livin’ out here longer than the lot of us. She knows this bush like the back of her hand. Every nook and cranny.”
“Where did she say this fire was?”
“You tell me. That’s what I was about to do—check it out. Luna said there was a fire. That’s it.”
I place the radio to my mouth. “Team red, you need to look for an area where a fire has been burning or is still burning. Any smoke you see, head in that direction. Morgan might have lit it for us to find her.”
“Shit,” Winston exhales. “Poor Morgan. You think she’s out there in the bush somewhere?”
I look Winston up and down but don’t answer. “I have questions.”
“You let me have a smoke out on the veranda, and I’ll tell ya whatever ya want to know.”
I swing my arm outwards. “After you.”
Winston sits on the rusted chair beside the table. Rubbing his wrists now absent from the handcuffs I removed, with a lit cigarette hanging from his bottom lip.
I bring the lighter to the end of my own cigarette, cupping my hand to contain the flame. I keep my eyes fixed on Winston, watching his every move. “Falcon—”
“God rest his soul.” He interrupts.
“Your brother took his own life?” I place the lighter on the table and take a long draw from my smoke.
“Yes. Falcon was a such a troubled, lost, loner boy, but nobody should be trapped inside themselves like he was. Driven to make it all stop in the end.”
“So you saw it coming?”
“Nope, I didn’t. But I probably wasn’t around enough to notice. Not a day goes by that I don’t wish I’d been home more to take care of him.” He takes a long draw from his smoke. “Ten-year age gap didn’t help. I was in training for the army, and he was in Melbourne. I always knew he was troubled—hell, so did Mum, but he seemed happy enough with his best mate by his side and Morgan on his arm.”
“Best friend?”
“Thick as thieves they were, him and Logan.”
“Logan?”
“Logan Raffety. It was Falcon, Morgan, and Logan against the world back then. They went everywhere together. Did everything together. Then when Morgan went off to university, and they busted up, he still had Logan.”
“Do you see Logan? Is he from around here?”
He shakes his head. “Nah. He’s still back home in Melbourne where we all grew up. He’s a police officer actually, so he won’t be hard for you pigs—I mean, cops, to find.”
I shift my eyes to Roland who is leaning against a single rail, writing into his notepad. He nods to indicate he’ll arrange someone to look into Logan Raffety.
“Do you have the copy of the note Falcon left before his death?”
Winston ashes his cigarette. “Nah, I don’t. I put it in the coffin with Mum, and it burned with her. Falcon’s death broke mum’s heart. She kept that note on her dresser, never far from her side, every day after the coppers returned it. She couldn’t stand the thought of him hanging himself as he did. She was the one who found him.”
“Your mother’s death entitled you to ownership of the land and cabin.””
“Yeah, it did. She had dementia, you know. You’d think she’d have forgotten Falcon and the circumstances of his death, like she’d forgotten everything else, but she didn’t. It was the only memory she clung on to. It tortured mum. It’s one of the reasons I came here—to take care of her. I decided to stay after she was gone. Live a quiet existence.” He closes his eyes momentarily. “Mum died here in this cabin. She loved the wilderness. She was happy, happy in this home, right to the end.”
“Was Morgan’s name in the suicide note, like our records indicate?”
“I wouldn’t know. I never read it. Couldn’t bring myself to try and understand a single word. I harboured a lot of guilt over his passing. Do you think Morgan going missing has something to do with Falcon taking his life, his death?”
“It was our strongest lead. You were our strongest lead.”
He flicks his wrist. “Nah. Nope. It had nothing to do with me. And anybody who knew Falcon would never wish harm upon Morgan. Not me, not a soul. There’d be no one harbouring any ill wishes toward her because of his death. Falcon was mentally disturbed.” He places his finger to his temple and taps. “He had problems up in his head, extensive problems. He was wired wrong, I think, and for a long time he never shared what he was going through with his family, just his best mate. Lucky for us, Logan kept giving us updates about how he was travelling.”
“They were that close?”
Winston nods. “Morgan didn’t cause Falcon’s death. Falcon did. He took his life. If anything, Morgan probably gave us more time with him than we would have had otherwise. He was much happier and stable when she was around.” He pauses, then takes a long inhale. “I’m not gonna lie, even with her around, there still was this lonely, confused, and tortured boy inside him.”
I drop the butt of my smoke to the wooden slats of the veranda and stomp until the cherry no longer burns.
“So are you taking me to the station, or are you going to let me see where this fire might be?”
“We’ll take care of the fire. You need to give us a statement.”
“Fine.” Winston spits on his fingers and extinguishes his smoke between them. “Let me get my wallet and shit.”
“Sure.”
We conduct a one-hour search, and the house turns up nothing. My stomach drops. This isn’t our guy. He doesn’t even have a bloody television.
I feel like I’m back at square one. I’ve no idea who has Morgan, but I do know she’s out here somewhere.
The sun is peeking out from behind the mountains and a blanket of light fans across the once-dark landscape. Daybreak is only moments away.
“Pull out,” I call to the blue team. “We’re going inland to search. Morgan’s out here.” At least we’ll have light.
As quickly as I instruct them on our next move, we’re heading for the cars. Here’s hoping we’re not too late.
“Astin, we have a big problem.” My partner cups my arm and yanks me, causing me to stumble over my feet.
“What the fuck are you doing?” I'm shocked. Roland has never handled me in such a way.
“Listen,” he barks through his teeth. “Shit has gone down. Reid is MIA in his father-in-law’s four-wheel-drive. He has a passenger on board—his brother. John—you know the neighbour? He’s just been placed under arrest and has been hauled down to the station. Shirley, his wife, is assisting with the investigation, and she’s also down at the station. Lynette is holding the fort. Reid and Morgan’s parents are caring for the children back at the Banks home, and we have four uniformed officers on-site with them. Max has a unit with him, and they’re coming in our direction.”
“When?” My body stiffens. My heart beats hard in my chest.
“This all went down about an hour ago. Look.” He holds out his mobile phone. I start reading the messages.
“That’s the address Reid’s going to?” I snap as I point to the screen.
“Yes. The neighbours own that fucking cabin. Astin, this property didn’t show up in our title search.” He pauses, then shakes his head. “Shirley has advised that John has been communicating with the abductor. She overheard him having a phone conversation about it.”
“Who is the abductor?”
“Shirley didn’t know, and John hasn’t said. They’re grilling him down at the station, but he’s giving nothing up.”
“Fuck,” I hiss. “So now we have two fucking civilians about to enter the field. Are they armed?”
Roland shakes his head. “We don’t think so.”
“Do they have a fucking death wish?”
I grasp my portable radio. “All teams, all teams, we have located the property where Morgan could be. We have two civilians, Reid and Cruise Banks en route to the cabin at sixty-seven Lane Road, Corbet’s Landing. Team red, you’re the closest. Get your arses there and make sure those two don’t get themselves killed. This is a state of emergency. Everybody, move out.”
Urgency overcomes us, and as I climb into the car, I already know that this won’t end well, and someone’s going to get killed. The question is, how many body bags are we going to need by the time it’s all said and done? I can only hope we’re in line for a miracle.
What the hell is Reid thinking? And how did he give Max the slip?
“Roland, get Max on the phone, now.”
The sirens blare. Red and blue light the sky. We have three lives to protect.
This just made my job so much harder than it already was. Why didn’t Reid trust that I’d bring her home?