Deadly Trust Page 2

  The second gunman didn’t have a pulse and Jay didn’t want to remove the ski mask. He didn’t need another dead face to join those of his nightmares.

  The bullets had hit true. One in the chest and the other on the right side of the throat. No chance these two were special forces. Wrong weapons. If they were special forces, Jay would be dead. Their training was good though and they didn’t do too many things wrong; just the major ones, like the unconscious one getting his weapon within reach of the target. A good assumption would be that they were standard infantry soldiers. Solid training but with limited experience. He checked the pockets of the dead soldier and found nothing. They had sanitised themselves of identification in case of capture. Which meant, if they were infantry, there should be an army ID and fifty dollars in the base of their boots.

  Jay started undoing the laces of one of the dead guy’s boots when a loud hailer stopped him in his tracks. ‘This is the police. Come out with your hands above your head. Nobody has to get hurt.’

  That was quick, Jay thought. And a strange thing to say considering the fleeing men should have mentioned to the police what went down. He unloaded both weapons and walked towards the door, holding the weapons by his side. The doors opened, he threw the rifles forward and raised his hands high above his head.

  ‘All clear in here. One gunman dead and the other unconscious with a broken jaw and stab wound to his leg.’

  ‘On the ground. Now!’

  Jay didn’t hesitate. Face down, hands behind his head. He needed to be passive. Do as ordered and it would be over soon enough.

  A knee landed on his back and knocked the wind out of him. His hands were ripped behind and cuffs closed tight around his wrists. Too tight.

  ‘Got you, arsehole,’ said the police officer on Jay’s back.

  Jay knew he had to ride the wave of emotions from the police until the situation was sorted out. He couldn’t blame them for thinking he was involved. Still, the knee in the back was a little over the top.

  The pressure on his back released and Jay heard the doors open behind him. He assumed the police were moving in to clear the building.

  More sirens joined the chorus from the street and plenty of boots started to hit the pavement in quick time past his head. Jay lay in wait, staring at a green and gold hedge that could have used a drink.

  ‘Sit up, arsehole.’

  Jay rolled over and sat up, leaning against the dying hedge. The overweight police officer’s name tag said Senior Constable David Underwood. The same police officer who had booked him for driving without a licence the day before. Ironic.

  With a scowl that appeared permanent, Underwood asked, ‘What’s your story, arsehole?’ The scowl didn’t match the double chin soaked with sweat. Underwood’s breaths came heavy and fast. Obviously not used to this much action in Byron Bay.

  ‘Wrong place, wrong time, I guess. And the name’s Jay Ryan. The same as I told you yesterday. I answer to either Jay or Ryan, and prefer it if you didn’t call me arsehole.’

  ‘That right, arsehole?’

  Jay bit his tongue. So many comebacks were at the ready. No. He had to keep calm until the mess was resolved.

  Underwood smirked. ‘Thought as much.’ He moved around to the side of Jay and hauled him roughly to his feet. ‘Let’s go, arsehole. You can explain all of this, and your two dead friends in there, at the station.’

  Two dead, Jay thought.

  THREE

  Jay sat alone in the interrogation room, nursing a bruised forehead. A result of Underwood ‘accidentally’ banging Jay’s head against the frame of the police car door. Jay guessed he’d been here for about two hours. His watch, keys, belt and laces from his boots had been removed. No food, no water, and no three-year-old Reader’s Digests to stimulate the mind. Just a standard interrogation room with a mirror along one wall and a couple of cameras pinned high in the corners.

  The one thing Jay couldn’t understand about police interrogations was the time they took to set them up. In all the years he had taught and conducted military interrogations, he knew that the valuable information came at the front end of the proceedings. Never give your subject time to come up with a story. Strike while the iron is hot. If he wanted to make up a story, two hours was ample time. But because he didn’t need to fictionalise the morning’s events, he’d spent the time picturing himself surfing Bryon Bay’s famous waves.

  He was jolted from his daydreaming when the door to the interview room opened. Two suits entered. One male, one female. The male stood at around six feet and mirrored Jay’s build. He had broad shoulders and carried himself lightly. There was something strange about the eyes though. He carried a styrofoam cup in one hand and a folder under his arm while he held the door open for his partner.

  The partner was the most petite police officer Jay had ever seen. Her business suit hid a small frame and the secretary-type glasses hid a dark pair of eyes that matched her short black hair. She too carried a folder under her arm, but she held two styrofoam cups.

  Before they spoke, both of the newcomers placed their cups on the table and their folders in front of where they intended to sit. They removed their jackets and sat, without looking at Jay. Nice little ploy to start with. Generally, prisoners couldn’t stand the silent treatment. Prisoners needed to know what was going on. Being in a room alone for two hours may just be the trigger for the prisoner to start merrily chatting away without being asked a question. It also showed who was in control. He wondered if these two knew his background.

  Jay waited. He wasn’t offered the third cup of coffee – just yet. And he wouldn’t take it without being offered. Besides, he probably wouldn’t have taken it anyway. It looked weak and probably had a dozen sugars in it.

  More shuffling of papers and sips at their coffees. Jay flexed his neck like a boxer warming up for a fight. They had made a hazardous error they probably didn’t realise by bringing cups of hot coffee into the room. If Jay wanted, he could have used them as a weapon even though his hands were cuffed. It showed just how ‘green’ these two were. He bet himself they would go for the ‘good cop, bad cop’ ploy.

  The male closed his folder and looked at Jay. One blue eye, one brown eye. Heterochomia. Certainly one way to stand out.

  ‘I’m Detective Peterson and this is Detective Green.’

  The female looked up and nodded.

  Peterson continued. ‘For legal purposes, this interview is being recorded by the two cameras you see in the room. They are being controlled by a police officer behind the mirror. Do you understand?’

  Jay nodded, knowing he needed to agree aloud for recording purposes.

  ‘You’ll have to give a verbal response to all questions asked.’

  ‘What if I don’t want to respond?’

  ‘Well ... you’ll have to give a verbal response that you don’t want to respond.’

  ‘That doesn’t make sense, Detective Peterson. By giving the verbal response, I am responding. So it defeats the purpose of not responding.’

  The two detectives looked at one another and Peterson glanced at the mirror before staring back at Jay. ‘Just answer the questions you want to answer verbally, not just by nodding or shrugging. Okay?’

  Jay felt like nodding, but didn’t want to push it – yet. ‘Yes.’

  ‘Good. Now for the record. Could you state your full name and address?’

  Jay did and added, ‘Would I be able to see your official identification, please?’

  The detectives looked at one another before Peterson spoke. ‘We’re in a police station and I’ve told you who we are.’

  Jay shrugged. ‘You never know.’

  They took out their badges and held them quickly for Jay to see. He only wanted to know their first names – Stephen and Joanna.

  ‘Satisfied?’ Peterson asked, the red rising in his cheeks.

  Detective Green looked at Jay. ‘Okay, Mr. Ryan. Mind if I call you Jay?’ Her voice was soft and inviting.

  �
��Mind if I call you Jo?’

  ‘Umm...’

  ‘What the hell are you playing at, Ryan?’ Peterson almost burst out of his seat. ‘This is bullshit. You want to jerk us around? Stop with the smartarse comments and just answer the questions.’

  The outburst didn’t seem planned according to the look of horror on Green’s face. They may have wanted to play good cop, bad cop, but probably not so early. Jay smiled. He hadn’t lost his read of people. He knew what buttons to push and when. He also knew when to back off.

  ‘Okay. I’m just playing with you a bit.’

  Peterson rose from his seat and leaned over the table towards Jay. ‘Playing? This is a murder investigation. If you think you can play games with us, you are seriously mistaken.’ Green reached forward and dragged her partner back into his seat.

  ‘Let’s start again, Mr. Ryan,’ Green said.

  ‘Jay’s fine.’

  Peterson went to rise again, but was held back by his partner.

  Green took the lead. ‘I’ll stick with Mr. Ryan and you can address me as detective. You understand, Mr. Ryan?’

  Nice move, Jay thought. ‘Yes, detective.’

  Playtime was over.

  ‘Right. Let’s start at the beginning. What were you doing at the RTA this morning?’

  Jay took a deep breath and started with his explanations. He went into detail so his story could be verified by the witnesses. He had nothing to hide and said as much. He even mentioned, and pointed out, the bruise on his forehead from Underwood. Peterson took notes while Green seemed to be comparing Jay’s story against a pile of notes she already had in her folder. They didn’t ask any clarifying questions while Jay was speaking. Both detectives seemed to soak up the information. At the end of the story, Jay wrapped up by requesting immediate release. No apology or thanks required.

  Peterson spoke first. ‘You expecting us to believe that you just happened to be there, just happened to know how to use one of those weapons and just happened to be able to kill two trained soldiers?’

  ‘So they were soldiers?’

  Green interjected before her partner could reply. ‘Our investigation is continuing. Of course you’ll understand that we’ll need to verify a few things before you’re released.’

  ‘You’ve had two hours and God knows how many witnesses. What about the CCTV? Wouldn’t that show what happened?’

  Green smiled for the first time. ‘It’s the RTA, Mr. Ryan, not a bank.’ She shuffled her papers back into her folder and rose. Peterson followed.

  Before they could wrap up the interview, the door opened and the New South Wales Police Commissioner entered. Quite a sight in full dress uniform. Both detectives took a moment to register their shock before straightening. Peterson was the first to speak.

  ‘Umm ... Commissioner.’

  ‘Detective.’

  Then Green. ‘Commissioner.’

  ‘Detective.’

  Jay couldn’t help himself. He stood and grinned. ‘Commissioner.’

  ‘Hello, Jay.’

  Both detectives looked at Jay and then back to their superior. They looked like they’d just been conned. The NSW Police Commissioner walked past the detectives, produced a small key and released Jay’s handcuffs.

  ‘How you doing, Jay?’

  ‘Not too bad considering. Did you really need to make me wait the couple of hours before the interview?’

  ‘Had to let them play it how they wanted.’ He nodded towards the detectives. ‘Royal Commissions ensure we’re accountable for our actions at all times. I needed to wait until you got your story out.’

  Green put her folder back on the table. ‘What’s going on here, sir?’

  ‘Let’s just say had you done a complete background check before speaking with Mr. Ryan, the interview would have been different.’ He glanced across to Jay and then back to the detectives. ‘I assume you heard the rumours last year about an Israeli espionage ring working on our shores?’

  Both detectives nodded.

  The Commissioner turned back to Jay. ‘Mind if I tell them?’

  Jay cringed. He hated his past brought up. ‘Rumours are always exaggerated.’

  ‘Not this one. You’re a national hero.’

  ‘I appreciate the compliment, Commissioner. Still, if you don’t mind, I’d prefer a low profile around here.’

  ‘Of course. I understand. But if you don’t tell anyone, how can we teach our detectives the lessons learned from your experience?’

  Jay gave a wry smile. ‘I get it now. Dad told me there were some interested parties asking me to go back to teaching interrogation. Sorry to disappoint, but I’m not looking just yet, Commissioner.’

  ‘Can’t blame me for trying.’

  Green sat. ‘Sorry, Commissioner, but I’m finding this a remarkable coincidence. For a start, I thought that thing with the espionage and the government was an urban legend. And supposedly, the guy was tortured and shot up pretty bad.’ She looked at Jay. ‘That was only a year or so ago. And Mr. Ryan here doesn’t look like he’s been recovering from those type of injuries.’

  Jay had kept both hands under the table throughout the interview. He held up his damaged hand. The scars from a bullet wound were now evident for the detectives to see. ‘I could take my boot off to show you where I got shot in the foot if you like.’

  ‘That’s not necessary,’ the Commissioner said.

  ‘Holy crap,’ Peterson said. ‘So it really was a case of wrong place, wrong time today?’

  Jay knew it wasn’t, but it wasn’t the time to be spruiking his theories without logical argument. ‘Guess so. And I’d really prefer to keep a low profile around here. Can I ask that you don’t go throwing my name around with those rumours?’

  The Commissioner answered for them. ‘You have my word it’ll be kept quiet, Jay. Isn’t that right, detectives?’

  Both chorused, ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘Good. Now, are you sure I couldn’t interest you in a great job at the academy? Name your price. Has to be reasonable, of course.’

  Jay shook his head. ‘And give up times like these?’ He rubbed his wrists where the cuffs had left their mark.

  The Police Commissioner made a move towards the door, holding his hands open for Jay to lead the way. ‘Listen, Jay. My apologies. I had to let the dice roll. I called your dad to let him know what happened, but according to his secretary, he was already on his way up here to see you. I suspect he won’t be far away.’

  Jay gave a quizzical look as he stepped around the table towards the door. ‘Did she say why he was coming here?’

  ‘She’s the secretary for the head of our National Intelligence Service. I’m a friend and couldn’t even get that one out of her.’

  It looked like Peterson and Green wanted to crawl under a rug and hide.

  The Commissioner continued. ‘But I assume it’s the same reason most of us are around here at the moment.’

  Jay flashed the Commissioner a quizzical look.

  ‘The anthrax attack,’ the Commissioner said.

  Jay shrugged.

  ‘Have you been hiding under a rock for the last week?’

  ‘Guess so. I don’t watch much TV or read the papers. What anthrax attack?’

  ‘I’ll give you the media version for obvious reasons. The Big Day Out Concert on the Gold Coast last week – a dozen dead and seventy-odd hospitalised after anthrax spores were released into the crowd.’

  ‘Shit!’

  ‘You can say that again.’

  Jay left it at that. His father would fill him in on any details if he needed to know. Which he probably didn’t. He wondered if the injections he’d received before deploying to Afghanistan all those years ago would still protect him. There would be time to think about it later. He thanked Detectives Peterson and Green for their hospitality and headed out of the interview room.

  After collecting his belongings, he was given a lift back to his car. The black ’57 Chevy needed to be aired before he could
jump in and head back to his apartment. It had been baking in the Byron Bay heat since late morning. He wound down the windows and used the time to cross the street to buy some cigarettes and the paper.

  Once home, Jay negotiated his way through the new security system: electronic keypad linked to a CCTV and intercom in each apartment. Although crime in the area was relatively low, one of the residents had managed to secure a good deal on the security system that had been agreed to at the last body corporate meeting. Jay missed the meeting, but caught up with the minutes tucked under his door.

  After changing into his board shorts and wetsuit top, he checked his voicemail. Three hang-ups and one message from his father. His father mentioned he would be coming around early evening as he had an appointment in Brisbane beforehand. That explained the unexpected visit. Ed Ryan always drove down to Byron Bay to visit Jay whenever he came to Brisbane. The three hang-ups perplexed him. He rarely received calls. In fact, not many people knew his number. He only got the machine for his father to leave a message. His mobile phone sat in the Chevy on permanent recharge, for emergencies only.

  He didn’t dwell on the missed calls. The cigarettes perched on the kitchen bench looked inviting, considering his morning, but he resisted the urge before he went for a surf. The paper could also wait. He strapped his board to the roof of the Chevy and made his way towards the lighthouse – his favourite surfing spot.

  FOUR

  The last rays of light dropped behind the ranges to the west. The purple sky stretched from the mountains and reached for the lighthouse atop the most easterly point of Australia. Jay sat astride his surfboard and took in the beauty and tranquillity. There was no other place he’d rather be. A perfect late afternoon surfing the famous Byron Bay break. Not a care in the world ... apart from the niggling feeling someone had tried to kill him earlier in the day.