Sinister Intent Read online

  ‘Um . . . well, I’ve had a bit of time off then I started here in the detectives’ office two weeks ago. I’ve been transferred from Kings Cross. I work here now,’ she explained as though talking to a two-year-old. ‘What are you doing here, Sandy?’

  ‘I’m waiting for Detective Sergeant Burgh,’ she slurred.

  Lexie frowned. Harry Burgh was in his middle fifties. He was stocky, of average height, and had a thin layer of brown hair, grey sideburns and a face like a bloodhound: saggy cheeks and droopy eyes. Up until two weeks ago, she had not laid eyes on him since the inquest into her brother’s death. And now, here they were, ironically, working alongside each other. A situation she would never have imagined, or desired.

  It was pretty damn awkward actually. At least Lexie thought so. However, it didn’t seem to faze Harry Burgh at all. That was probably because from his perspective he’d done nothing wrong. The inquest had exonerated him of any blame regarding Lincoln’s death and even though Lexie had tried to remain open-minded, not letting her personal feelings disturb her professionalism, it was hard to be cordial to a man who had failed to keep her brother safe; who had stood by and let him die.

  That’s probably not fair. She shouldn’t be too quick to judge, Lexie told herself. Perhaps it was a coping mechanism; a way to handle her own anger and grief by placing misguided blame on the last person to see her brother alive. Burgh might be a good cop who had simply been caught up in a very bad and tragic situation. She was just too close to be objective. Either way, they were now working in the same office, and since he outranked her, she was going to have to find a way to deal with it.

  ‘Why are you waiting for Detective Burgh?’ Lexie asked. ‘Are you in some sort of trouble?’

  Sandy hesitated for a second before answering. Her eyes flickered anxiously around the room. ‘I’m just helping him with something. He wants to ask me a few questions.’

  So she was his informant. ‘Where are you living, Sandy?’

  ‘I’m kinda staying with my dad sometimes . . . and with a friend sometimes. I’m trying to get clean, get off the smack and I can’t do that living on the streets of the Cross. I’m going to do a course and get a job. I’ve had enough of that shit life, but it’s hard, you know?’

  Lexie remembered Sandy telling her that her father was abusive. It was the reason she had run away from home at the age of fifteen. She wondered what had changed. Had the abuse stopped or had she simply run out of options?

  ‘Where does your father live?’

  ‘Telopea Crescent at Randwick. Don’t know the number.’

  Yeah, right.

  ‘What’s your father’s name, Sandy?’

  Sandy gave her a disbelieving look. ‘My dad’s Max Croft.’

  Lexie filed the name away in the back of her memory. ‘Am I supposed to know him?’

  Sandy scratched at the scabs on her arms. Smack was not her only vice, Lexie realised. The girl was also into Ice.

  ‘My dad’s the sergeant-at-arms of the Assassins,’ she proclaimed, as if he was some kind of movie star. ‘I thought all cops knew that kinda stuff.’

  Lexie ignored the jibe and was about to ask more questions when, through the foyer’s sliding glass doors, she glimpsed Harry Burgh approaching from the street outside. Today he wore a red tie, white shirt and black business suit that did nothing to hide the sizeable paunch that hung over his pants. Still squatting, she pulled a business card from her shirt pocket and pressed it into Sandy’s palm. If she was Burgh’s informant Lexie didn’t want it to seem like she was undercutting him.

  ‘Take that. It’s got my number on it. You call me if you need me, or if there might be something I should know about. Okay?’ She put her finger to her lips. ‘Our secret.’

  Sandy nodded and, leaning sideways, tucked the card into the back pocket of the skinny jeans that made her legs look like toothpicks.

  Seconds later the doors slid open. Lexie rose to her feet. Burgh spotted her at once. She watched him advance towards her, forcing his way through the crowd, strutting like a peacock parading his self-importance.

  Stop it.

  He stood close. So close she could see the open pores of his skin. Lexie found his habit of invading her personal space uncomfortable. His narrow eyes travelled up and down the length of her body, making her conscious of the way her pants clung to her slim legs, and the way her silk blouse gaped slightly at her chest. Finally they came to rest on her face. His thin mouth curled into a grin as if his examination of her was over and she’d met with his approval. Lexie straightened herself to her full height and took a casual step backwards. She was taller than him, a fact that gave her childish satisfaction and, as she glanced down at him, she forced herself to return the smile.

  ‘Good morning, Alexandra,’ Burgh said cheerfully. He ignored the girl sitting between them. ‘You look very . . . professional today.’

  ‘It’s Lexie. No one, not even my parents call me Alexandra.’ She said this pleasantly but found it annoying he insisted on calling her by her full name.

  ‘Sorry, Lexie. I keep forgetting. It’s just such a beautiful name; a beautiful name for a beautiful woman.’ His dark eyes gave her another appraisal as he delivered the compliment.

  Lexie cringed on the inside.

  For her work wardrobe Lexie preferred practical clothing. She liked to be comfortable, able to move easily. Never being certain where the day may lead, it was important to be dressed appropriately for any occasion: an unexpected court appearance, a foot pursuit, a leap over a backyard fence or just sitting, typing out statements or attending to the never-ending array of paperwork. She chose outfits that were classy and conservative, only hinting at the slender body that lay underneath so as not to betray her authority or distract from her professionalism. Not that it seemed to matter to Burgh what she was wearing. At present, his eyes were devouring her like she was his next meal.

  ‘Thank you,’ she managed.

  His gaze darted between Lexie and Sandy as though trying to figure out the association. ‘This lady here is assisting me with some information regarding an investigation I’m doing. Do you two know each other?’ Burgh asked.

  Lexie cut in before the girl could speak, which wasn’t difficult considering she was having trouble just staying awake. For reasons she didn’t fully understand, Lexie was hesitant to mention they were familiar.

  ‘No, not really; I was just making sure she was okay,’ she answered, glancing at Sandy, who had suddenly become mesmerised by the floor. Her eyes were fixed and glazed over – she appeared to be in another place, hopefully a much grander one than the foyer of a police station.

  ‘I’ve got to go,’ Lexie said. She felt a sudden urge to get away. ‘Brad’s waiting for me upstairs.’

  ‘Well, isn’t Brad the lucky one,’ Burgh said to her back as she fled up the stairs.

  —

  ‘What do you know about Max Croft?’

  Brad’s fingers paused over the keyboard as he glanced at Lexie, who had just sat down at her desk, directly opposite him.

  ‘Why are you asking?’

  ‘Just spoke to an old informant in the foyer. She mentioned her father’s Max Croft.’ Lexie fiddled with a strand of long blonde hair that had escaped her ponytail. ‘She expected me to know who he was.’

  Brad nodded his large head. ‘Most cops who’ve worked here a while know him, or at least know of him. I’ve had a few dealings with him over the years. He’s the sergeant-at-arms of the Assassins club. His nickname’s Metho Max – need I say more?’

  Lexie laughed. ‘Let me guess; he’s into drinking methylated spirits?’

  ‘He doesn’t do it all the time. It’s apparently his party trick.’ Brad laughed. ‘You really have the makings of a good detective, you know that?’

  Lexie rolled her eyes ‘I know. We had a local at the Cross – Metho Joe – same thing. Though he’s no longer around. Can’t live forever drinking that stuff. Do you know where Max Croft lives?’

&n
bsp; Brad sat back in his chair, stretching his arms behind his head. ‘10 Telopea Crescent, Randwick. Just around the corner from the Assassins clubhouse.’

  So Sandy had been telling the truth about the address. ‘What’s he like?’

  ‘Demonic.’

  Lexie raised her eyebrows. ‘Demonic? Now there’s a word.’

  Brad shrugged his large shoulders. ‘While we’re talking about bikies, have you heard of the Devil’s Guardians, the Assassins’ rivals?’

  ‘I’ve heard of the Assassins, though I’ve not had anything to do with them. The Comancheros, the Rebels, the Bandidos, I know well because they frequent the Cross, are involved in some of the clubs there. Never heard of the other one . . . the Devil’s what? We have two bikie gangs in this area?’

  ‘Yep, aren’t we lucky? The Devils are a smaller gang. And you’re going to get to meet some of them tomorrow when we do a search warrant on their clubhouse.’ Brad clapped his hands together like an excited kid. ‘Yahooo.’

  Lexie’s stomach felt as if it had dropped through the soles of her feet. She felt Brad’s eyes on her, monitoring her reaction, and managed to keep her expression firmly under control. Her face gave nothing away.

  Brad had no idea Lexie’s past experience with a very dangerous bikie had left her emotionally injured. Or that she detested her weakness with as much passion as she was determined to conceal it. She was uncertain how much Brad knew about her past. He’d asked her nothing. Excluding her boss, who’d gently broached the subject when she first arrived at the office, no one had.

  Returning to work in a new station, a different section with a fresh group of workmates, Lexie had braced herself for interrogation, even ridicule. In this job it was almost impossible to keep anything under wraps. Gossip and bad news were telegraphed with lightning speed. So she knew her colleagues would be aware of what had happened to her. If not the facts, they would have heard stories and rumours. Yet so far they had been considerate enough not to pry. She wasn’t sure why; maybe they’d been instructed not to upset her. Or maybe they were waiting for her to bring it up; who knew? She didn’t really care. She was just grateful it hadn’t been necessary to relay her harrowing tale over and over again.

  The last thing she wanted was to have the stigma of her past affect her future. There could be nothing worse than forever dodging rockets of judgement regarding her ability to cope, or worse, have people feel sorry for her. She didn’t need anyone’s rehearsed sympathy. She had enough to prove just being the new, most junior detective in the office without any extra baggage to weigh her down.

  Lexie was fully aware that for a period of time, until she’d demonstrated her aptitude as a proficient investigator, she would be observed, evaluated, tested and assessed. She would be expected to carry out menial tasks, be the shitkicker, the pleb, to suck it up and not complain. This standard induction she could deal with. The extra burden of being a female striving to assert herself in the male-dominated world of criminal investigation was something she found especially challenging.

  As a probationary constable entering new territory and desperate to be accepted into the fellowship of policing, Lexie had quickly discovered that to earn her counterparts’ trust and respect – both male and female – there were a number of undeclared traits she was required to possess.

  She was expected to be hard – durable as steel. She needed to have a thick skin and not be easily offended by foul language or sleazy remarks. She needed to be resilient, fearless, able to deal with blood and guts and not faint or throw up during an autopsy, or when dealing with a smelly ‘dead’un’. She needed to demonstrate authority, be competent and reliable.

  But at the same time she had to go out drinking with the guys, be slapped on the back, elbowed in the ribs, and be in on their dirty jokes. And all the while being proficient at discreetly evading the drunken advances, the not so subtle gropes of workmates – who, under the distorted influence of the grog monster – fell into the misguided belief they had suddenly transformed into Brad Pitt and were irresistible to all females.

  It could be exhausting. But it came with the territory. Like it or lump it.

  Her mind clicked back to the conversation. ‘Well, that sounds exciting. Do the bikie gangs ever cause any trouble?’

  Brad laughed. ‘Not usually and not for a while, up until a few weeks ago that is.’

  Lexie’s eyes widened. He had her full interest.

  ‘One of the Assassins’ members allegedly,’ he emphasised the word with a sarcastic twist, ‘groped Rex Donaldson’s girlfriend in a pub. Donaldson is the sergeant-at-arms of the Devil’s Guardians and that’s a big no-no in bikie land. So you can imagine what happened.’ He banged his hands loudly against the desk. ‘Boom.’ Lexie flinched. ‘A big fight broke out. There’s been an undercurrent of tension ever since.’

  ‘In what way?’

  ‘The groper, Barney Magentagitt, or Maggot as he’s called, is a maniac, an absolute idiot. I’m not sure why the Assassins tolerate him, to tell you the truth. He’s a weedy bloke who looks as if he was dropped on a hard floor at birth, and his big mouth is constantly getting him into trouble. He didn’t like it when he copped what he deserved – a flogging for being a smart-arse. Since then he’s been mouthing off to anyone who’ll listen that the Devils will pay. It’s stirring up trouble. Both gangs are on edge.’

  ‘Just what we need, a bikie war,’ Lexie said.

  ‘Exactly, that’s why both gangs are being monitored closely at the moment; to prevent any escalating violence. We don’t want our beautiful eastern suburbs polluted with firebombings and drive-by shootings.’

  Brad picked up the phone that had started ringing on his desk.

  An involuntary shiver ran along Lexie’s spine for no apparent reason. Seizing a pen from her top drawer, she opened her duty book and commenced today’s entry: on duty 8.00 am Bondi Junction Detectives; attended to office duties and statement re: East Leagues Club Fraud. Then out to . . .

  Brad replaced the handset with a clunk, informing Lexie that uniform would be handling Katia’s death.

  ‘Crime Scene attended, did their stuff and decided her death was not suspicious. It was a straight-out suicide, just as she said. They located a neighbour to identify the body, as all her family live in Germany. I told them we’d contact the German Consulate, just to help them out, but once that’s done we can get back to our own work. Have you got much to do?’

  What didn’t she have to do? There were statements to be obtained from staff at the Commonwealth Bank who’d been the victims of an armed hold-up three days ago. She was chasing a boyfriend who had violently assaulted his girlfriend and had, not surprisingly, gone AWOL. There was Mrs Jessop’s bag snatch and CCTV footage to be examined regarding a theft at a pub where an employee was helping himself to the till.

  ‘I think I have enough to keep me busy,’ Lexie said pleasantly, staring down at the array of paperwork scattered across her desk with a distinct lack of enthusiasm.

  Brad laughed. ‘Don’t worry, you’ll get used to not being able to scratch your own arse. A detectives’ office is very different to uniform,’ he told her, and then noting the look she shot him, added defensively, ‘I’m not saying they don’t work hard, they do. It’s just different.’

  Brad had been quick to pick up Lexie’s attitude towards over-inflated egos. She’d met more than a few detectives who, once they’d received their designation, had suddenly forgotten what it was like to be in uniform and in the first response car. She couldn’t stand big city detectives who walked around with puffed out chests and an exaggerated sense of self-importance, all because they’d passed a course in criminal investigation and wore a suit. That superior attitude annoyed the hell out of her and she was determined never to become one of them.

  Lexie sighed. ‘I know I’ve only been a detective for one minute but it seems to me I’ve got more paperwork now than I did in uniform. I wouldn’t have thought that possible but . . .’

  B
rad chuckled, shoving a third chocolate biscuit into his mouth. He continually complained that since giving up smoking three weeks ago he hadn’t stopped eating, but whining about it didn’t appear to change his behaviour. His already large frame seemed to be expanding by the hour.

  ‘You don’t know what paperwork is, girl. When I joined the job twenty-two years ago we had one computer for the central names index, used only to carry out registration and licence inquiries. There was none of this you-beaut technology like laptops, computer operational policing systems (COPS) or Eaglei computer case management systems for major investigations . . . Noooo.’ He sighed and threw himself back in the chair. ‘We had to use a manual typewriter to take statements and fill out forms. They were called P40 Incident Reports and if you made a mistake, good old liquid paper was the only solution. No delete buttons on those ancient things. And then there was the telephone message pad, the occurrence pad, the – ’

  ‘Oh Brad, tell someone who cares,’ Detective Sue Field interrupted. Standing at the junction of their desks she smiled down at Lexie. ‘I feel for you having to work with this old dinosaur. He’s going to bore you to death with his war stories, let me tell you.’

  Sue laughed as she pulled a phone out of the pocket of her pants. ‘You left your phone in the meal room earlier.’

  Lexie shook her head at her own absentmindedness. ‘Oh, thanks for that. I’m hopeless with that thing, I leave it everywhere but, incredibly, it’s like a boomerang and keeps coming back.’

  ‘Well, I wouldn’t leave anything too valuable lying around this office. I know it’s a police station but things still go missing. Scary when we, the police, don’t even know who we can trust,’ Sue said, walking back to her desk.

  Was that a warning, or was she being paranoid?

  At twenty-nine, Sue was one year older than Lexie. She had a tight athletic body acquired from many hours in the gym, bright red hair, and her ordinary features were always expertly enhanced with an assortment of cosmetics. She had been a detective for four years and for some reason insisted on reminding Lexie of that fact. Lexie found it mildly irritating and a tad patronising, yet out of the two female detectives in the office Sue was by far the most welcoming.