Читать книгу Payback - Harvey Cleggett - Страница 7

CHAPTER

2

For the five kilometres to the Calder Freeway he allowed the motor to warm, careful not to exceed 2500 revs. Once on the open highway he booted the 1.8 tonne vehicle up to 110 kph, revelling in the throaty rumble as the Mopar cold air intake drew air effortlessly into the motor.

Using voice commands he activated the Bluetooth; a soft female voice responded. “Please say the name or number.”

“Dial Natalie.” He was careful to enunciate his words, not wishing the system to revert to German or some other language as sometimes occurred.

“Dial Natalie at home or work?”

“Home.”

He shook his head, amazed at how voice recognition was taking over the world. It now selected car temperature, song tracks, navigation destinations. Where would it end? A sleepy female voice brought him back to the moment. “Yes-s, hello.”

He glanced at the dashboard clock. “Nat, this is your 6.15 wakeup call.”

“6.15! Michael… it’s the crack of dawn.”

“You wouldn’t grumble if I was there with you.”

“If you were here you could have your way and I wouldn’t even know it.”

He reflected for a second, deciding not to take up the challenge.

“Darling, I’m heading into the office. The Lalor murder is going to drag on for some time, how does a non-paying boarder for a few days sound?”

Natalie’s voice rose two octaves. “Michael, that’s wonderful. Stay as long as you like. What time tonight?”

“Not sure. I’ll ring later in the morning when I know more. Sweetheart, the traffic’s getting heavier, I’ll call you soon. Think of me… I love you.”

“Not as much as me.” A huskiness had crept into her voice as she drifted back to sleep. Grinning like a teenager, he felt excitement course throughout his body as he looked forward to the evening.

Natalie Somers, forty-five years old, one hundred and sixty-five centimetres, fifty-five kilograms, soft flawless skin despite four children, with an IQ of one hundred and twenty-five. She lived in a large, three bedroom town house in South Yarra; a result of a lifetime of hard work, plus an equitable divorce settlement six years earlier. Her two eldest girls had left home, leaving an eighteen year old daughter and a seventeen year old son still at school.

Natalie worked as a legal secretary for Ericsson & May, a prestigious law firm in Collins street. Prior to that, she had been a theatre sister in a private hospital in Box Hill, graduating from Melbourne University. With the arrival of her third daughter she had made the difficult decision to ‘slow down’. This meant a complete career change, exchanging the fatigue of shift work for regular, shorter hours at the law firm. It was at her current workplace three years prior that she had met Ballard. For both it was love at first sight.

Since that time they had been inseparable, with never a night passing they didn’t chat by telephone, sharing the day’s triumphs and failures, hopes and aspirations. Whenever possible on weekends Natalie would stay at the farm, or Ballard would drive to South Yarra, leaving Monday morning for the short trip to the Crime Department building.

Ballard looked back on his previous relationships, reflecting on two failed marriages; the first resulting in a son Bradley with whom he was awarded custody when he was two years old. As the family home had been in Ivanhoe, Bradley had attended the Boy’s Grammar School and at eighteen was fortunate to receive a scholarship to attend the Australian Defence Force Academy.

His move to the army as an officer, while welcomed by Ballard, had been emotionally traumatic as he regarded his son more as a younger brother. Both men were competitive but loving in every way; weekly telephone calls kept the bond between them current and rewarding.

The second marriage ended after four years with Ballard’s ex-wife Maureen and their now fifteen year old daughter Laura, living in Bendigo. The most distressing issue of the divorce was the fact that for the past two years Laura had chosen not to visit or contact him. Despite his attempts to reason with her, she and her mother were resolute. Submissions to the Family Court resulted in the formal statement that as Laura was thirteen she had the right to make her own decisions regarding parental visits.

Telephone calls were refused, offers to attend school functions rejected. All he could do was hope time would heal whatever was perpetuating Laura’s negative feelings, making it clear in a letter his door would always be open. He regretted she was now too adult for the sand pit and play equipment he had lovingly installed on the farm, hoping instead it would some day be used by future grandchildren.

Meeting Natalie was a new beginning for Ballard. Their personalities and outlook on life were similar, but to his amusement this didn’t include their politics. His respect for her ability to raise her family grew daily and her often wicked humour was something he delighted in, plus he didn’t find her sharp intellect in any way intimidating. The fact she was attractive, tactile and spontaneous in her approach to their physical relationship was an added bonus.

Just shy of three years later and in no doubt she was the lady he would spend the rest of his life with, he made the decision to marry her. While the request to stay over for several days was under the pretext of work, there was a far more important and pleasurable intent at hand. He prayed his offer would be accepted.

Thoughts of surprising her with an engagement ring were soon dismissed after previous attempts to determine what she liked failed to elicit an answer. This was a lady who was determined to design her own engagement and wedding rings.

He checked the rear vision mirror before manoeuvring to the left lane, feeding off the Keilor exit. The night before a work colleague had rung to ask for a lift into the office, despite having second thoughts when Ballard told him what time he would be calling past.

As he drove into the unit’s driveway he sounded the horn twice. Within seconds a tall rambling figure appeared, waving before locking the front door and ambling over to the car. Detective Senior Sergeant John Henderson wound his lanky frame into the front passenger seat with difficulty, despite the Chrysler’s ample leg room. Ballard noted he still hadn’t cut his unruly mop of light brown hair.

“Thanks Mike. Appreciated.”

“Think nothing of it John.” Ballard smiled to himself. He knew John loved being driven to work, almost drooling every time Ballard gave the motor a savage boot along the freeway.

John was by far the better driver, having spent years in what was previously known as the Traffic Operations Group. That experience, together with a number of advanced driving courses in both cars and on motor bikes made him the man to be behind the wheel during high speed pursuits.

John looked over his shoulder to the back seat, observing Ballard’s briefcase and sandwiches. Raising his eyebrows he stated rather than questioned, “Wholegrain bread, chicken, cheese and salad.”

Ballard’s expression and expansive shrug preceded his reply. “Were you expecting anything else?”

“Bloody hell Mike. You never change. You’re a multi-millionaire yet you make your own sandwiches.”

“So?”

“So when are you going to lighten up? I mean for God’s sake look at the inside of the car. It’s as clean as an operating theatre. Christ, you won’t even wear your jacket when you drive because the bloody thing might get creased.”

Ballard grinned as he looked across at John’s food stained, crumpled suit. It looked as though it had been slept in and Ballard was aware of at least two occasions when this proved to be true. “Do you know how much my suits cost me, John?”

“Yeah, point taken. But it still makes you a wanker.”

Ballard first met John when they were uniformed officers at a busy inner suburban police station. John was a newly promoted senior constable who had already made a name for himself as a tireless worker with acute street smarts. What set him apart from the majority of police was the fact he didn’t drink or smoke and he hated to socialise after work. This, together with the reality he did everything by the book reserved him from some of his fellow colleagues.

Ballard arrived at the station as a naive constable, eager to learn, also a non-drinker and non-smoker; as a consequence they were destined to work together as partners. Deliberate changes to the station roster by the shift sergeants made this inevitable. Over the next three years their arrest rates became legendary. John was the talented, logical, exacting investigator, while Ballard, although not possessing the same intellect, compensated by working harder, longer and with greater self-discipline.

After leaving St Kilda their careers separated, but every few years they found themselves on the same specialist squad or attending the same course together. It was not until Investigator Training, or what was historically known as Detective Training School that Ballard fully appreciated John’s brilliance as a policeman. Not only did he top the internationally renowned course, but he set a final marks record that to Ballard’s knowledge had yet to be beaten.

Conversely, Ballard finished mid-point in the squad of twenty-three detectives. Despite this, over the following years their individual arrest rates were similar. Neither Ballard nor John could explain this, even after many philosophical discussions, often late into the night.

John maintained Ballard was ‘Just plain lucky’. Ballard put it down to a keener ability to read people’s personality, to get inside a criminal’s head.

John continued to restrict his promotional prospects by his often brutal confrontations with management. Telling a senior officer he was unfit for the force, justified though it may have been, never placed him favourably when it came to securing advancement. As a consequence, Detective Senior Sergeant was destined to be his highest rank. Maintaining that rank was another thing and on a number of occasions Ballard had pleaded forcefully and at times emotionally with management not to demote him.

John was the first to broach the subject of the Lalor homicide.

“Not good Mike. No real evidence to go on. Just some poor bastard strung up like a piece of meat with the back of his head missing, thanks to a .45 slug found buried in a wooden beam. What sort of shithead does that?”

Ballard didn’t attempt an answer. He glanced across at his partner. “As you’ve the lead, let me know what you want me to do.” Despite the rank difference this was how he preferred to work, not always in charge of an investigation but applying his experience as and where required. It was a trait which endeared him to younger Homicide members, allowing him to nurture them into more effective investigators. In this case it was the obvious choice given John’s proven ability.

“Mike I want you with me at the scene. You see things others don’t. After that we’ll tick all the boxes: neighbouring factories, forensics, ballistics, family, acquaintances, the lot.

“My guys, along with Crime Scene and Forensics have done all this but I want you to go in cold. Work your magic. Like you I haven’t been to the factory. I wasn’t assigned the case until Crime Scene had attended and realised we had something pretty heavy.”

Ballard nodded in agreement. “As soon as we clock-on I’ll draw a work car then we’ll head out.” John settled back in his seat, eyes closed, listening to the rumble of the V8, a contented smile on his face.