Sinister Intent Read online

  ‘Give me the fucking camera,’ the bikie demanded, ripping it from her grasp.

  Pulled off balance, Lexie stumbled forward. Brad caught her arm and steadied her just as the bikie hurled the video recorder onto the ground. Glass fragments sprayed everywhere as it shattered onto the cracked cement.

  ‘Looks as though the camera’s broken,’ Donaldson said sarcastically.

  For a moment they all stood silently, stunned.

  ‘That’s called malicious damage, Donaldson,’ Brad grunted, angrily. ‘Not a good way to start the day.’

  The pregnant girl standing next to Donaldson exploded. ‘Who the fuck do you think you are barging in here . . .? You’re a bunch of aresholes . . .’

  ‘Shut up, Kate.’ Donaldson gripped her arm and pushed her back into the house. ‘Just go inside and let me deal with this.’

  The girl opened her mouth to argue then seemed to think better of it. Flicking scraggy blonde hair over one shoulder, she reluctantly disappeared inside.

  Josh spoke. ‘I think you’ll find it easier if you co-operate, Donaldson. We can easily get more police down here and pull the place apart if we have to. Is anyone else inside?’

  Donaldson nodded, calming down, seemingly resigned to the situation. ‘I’ve got a few mates inside.’

  Stepping around the shattered video camera, Lexie followed the others into the house. The smell of stale beer and cigarettes permeated the air. Her shoes squelched against grubby floorboards as they walked past walls spotted with mould and peeling paint. They passed a large room clearly set up for entertainment purposes. It was crammed with video equipment, a pool table, a portable bar, chairs, a fridge, a large TV and circular lounge. It gave the appearance of party central. Everything required for having a good time.

  Lexie opened the back door and the other four detectives joined them inside the house. The first bedroom they came to was empty, the bed a mess of tangled sheets, the floor littered with discarded clothing. Brad pushed open the second door. A puff of sour air – a concoction of alcohol, sweat and flatulence – greeted them. Sleeping bags covered two figures sprawled across mattresses on the floor; the room’s only furniture.

  Simultaneously, as though sensing being observed, the sleeping men stirred, opened their eyes and bolted upright.

  ‘What the fuck . . .’ they exploded in unison.

  The men were herded into the lounge room where Batman and Sue were assigned to guard them while the search was conducted. The rest of the team moved with Donaldson through the house and out into the back yard.

  The information was that drugs were stored in the back shed.

  ‘We’ll start out here,’ Brad stated following Josh outside.

  Lexie hung back in the lounge room to assist Batman, who had begun to record details in his notebook. Being the most junior detective, Lexie was under no illusion as to what was expected of her; stay in the background, keep her mouth shut, obey orders and assist when needed.

  ‘Can I get your name, date of birth and residential address, please?’ Batman asked one of the men pleasantly.

  Bill O’Grady was a smaller, skinnier and almost delicate version of Rex Donaldson. He went by the nickname ‘Rowdy’. He wore an AC/DC T-shirt and grey track pants and conveyed his details without fuss.

  Sue Field spoke to the large redhead called Bluey (aka Robert King). He, too, was passive and co-operative although clearly not happy. Lexie, following their lead, took out her notebook and edged towards the pregnant girl.

  ‘Can I get your name please?’

  ‘Kate Bushell,’ she grumbled reluctantly, rubbing her stomach. ‘I have to pee.’

  Lexie heard a shout from the back yard. ‘Lexie, get out here.’

  A flutter of excitement flipped her stomach. Outside she found Brad and Josh, surrounded by the other detectives, standing next to a rusted shed in the middle of the yard.

  ‘What have you found?’

  Brad flashed Lexie a satisfied grin. ‘We have to improvise, so get your mobile phone out and take some photos. You have got it, haven’t you?’

  Lexie patted the back pocket of her jeans just to make sure. ‘Yes.’

  ‘It’s not as good as the video camera but it’s better than nothing,’

  Josh pointed his finger inside the shed and turned to Brad. ‘Mate, can you get on the phone and see if you can rustle up another camera? We want some good photos of the evidence.’

  Lexie poked her head into the dank confines of the backyard shed. Lurch, squatting inside, shone his torch on a discarded beer carton. Lexie saw a number of miniature, clear re-sealable plastic bags spread across the bottom of the cardboard box. They were filled with what appeared to be a white powdery substance. Ice, cocaine, heroin? She began shooting pictures of the drugs in situ from different angles. Lurch waited until she’d finished, then picked up the box and placed it on the grass outside, lining up the bags across a dark sheet of plastic.

  It was only once the box was in the morning sunlight that she noticed Rex Donaldson’s name was clearly printed in black felt pen, on the side of the cardboard. Lexie snapped photos while Cakes recorded their findings in the exhibit log.

  ‘Not the biggest bust in the world, but certainly better than nothing,’ Brad said, and then, turning to Donaldson – who was standing motionless and unimpressed nearby – asked the question they were all waiting for. ‘Who do they belong to?’

  Donaldson stared at a patch of grass on the ground without responding. Lexie wondered if he was choosing to employ his right to silence or if there was a storm brewing somewhere behind those black eyes.

  Abruptly he bellowed, ‘They ain’t mine!’

  Lexie flinched and hoped nobody noticed. Glancing up at Donaldson, the sun hit her square in the eyes. Squinting, she moved slightly to the right so he was blocking the glare. She saw a twitch in his jaw. Her stomach constricted.

  ‘Your name’s on the box and I’m reasonably certain that white stuff in those bags is not talcum powder,’ Josh stated sarcastically. ‘So where did the drugs come from, Rex?’

  ‘Anyone could have written my name there. I’ve never seen any of it before.’ Rex crossed his arms aggressively. ‘This is a blatant set-up. This shed is so old it’s unlockable. Anyone could have put them in there.’

  ‘But they’re on your property, Rex. You are the occupier. How do you explain that?’

  Lexie knew Josh was trying to get some sort of admission out of Donaldson. Possession was a tough offence to prove and she didn’t like his chances.

  For a moment Donaldson again stared at the ground. He appeared confused, then his head snapped up.

  ‘We only moved in here three weeks ago. Maybe whoever lived here before is the owner of that stuff. I’ve never seen it before.’

  ‘Keep searching the rest of the place,’ Josh directed the detectives standing beside him. ‘There may be more.’

  Donaldson lapsed into a sullen silence.

  Realising Donaldson would not volunteer any further information, Josh glanced at Brad. Brad nodded and began to address Donaldson in a formal tone: ‘I want you to understand that you are now under arrest for the possession of an illegal substance. You are not obliged to do or say anything unless – ’

  His voice faded into the background as Lexie watched Donaldson’s jaw harden. His fists clenched and unclenched by his side. The air became suddenly ominous, the undercurrent of danger hung heavy between cops and bikie. A hand gripped Lexie’s stomach from the inside as she saw Donaldson move. Darting forward suddenly, he charged at Josh like a raging bull, slamming him back against the old wooden fence, momentarily knocking the breath out of his lungs.

  Brad and Ossie pounced swiftly, leaping on Donaldson’s back, attempting to put him on the ground and restrain him. But he fought them off like a man possessed. His behaviour was almost deranged as he thrashed, kicked, roared and snarled like a wild animal.

  ‘Settle down, Donaldson,’ Brad was shouting, struggling to get handcuffs arou
nd his chunky wrists. It was impossible. Donaldson batted Brad away like he was nothing. ‘You’re making this worse for yourself.’

  ‘Fuck off all of you, just fuck off.’

  Lurch moved to assist just as Ossie was flung sideways. He landed on his stomach, at her feet. As Lexie helped him up she heard yelling behind her. Turning, she was just in time to see the other two bikies, Rowdy and Bluey, together with Kate Bushell emerging from the house ready to join the brawl with Batman and Sue in pursuit. Suddenly Kate was upon her, Kate’s arm was flying towards her head. Her hand shot out and grabbed Kate’s wrist just before it connected with her face. Kate kicked out, her foot striking Lexie in the shin. Pain shot through her body and she stumbled forward, almost falling to the ground. She quickly recovered only to have the pregnant girl shoulder-charge her. Lexie was knocked backwards, her back slamming forcefully against the shed, the corrugated iron clanging with the impact.

  Shit! Winded, she winced and tried to catch her breath. Her vision blurred. She saw a group of bodies wrestling on the grass. Then Kate was on her again; slapping at her face, pulling at her hair. Mindful of her protruding belly, and the baby inside it, Lexie fought her off with as little force as possible but the woman was a wild cat, screaming and hissing in her face. Sue grabbed Kate from behind, pulling her off Lexie. She was suddenly free.

  But not for long.

  Donaldson, who’d broken away from Brad, was coming straight at her. She had no time to move. The force of his body, slamming into hers, threw her backwards against the shed − again. Her scream hung in the air as her head cracked against the hard metal.

  Swallowing overwhelming nausea she struggled to remain standing. Through a blurry haze Lexie saw Josh take a punch in the gut and Brad deflect a fist. She willed her body to move but it refused point blank. Do something . . .

  Voices mingled and screamed around her: ‘Get him on the ground’; ‘fucking pigs’; ‘handcuff him’. She saw Rex on the grass, rolling around with bodies all over him. Sue Field was fighting to restrain the thrashing Kate with the help of two others, Rowdy had struck out a vicious kick at Batman, who had fallen to the ground.

  Move, do something. It’s totally out of control. Eight cops against three bikies and one pregnant woman, and they were still getting smashed.

  Lexie’s mind finally clicked into gear. Her hand automatically reached into her back pocket for the can of capsicum spray. Staggering forward, Lexie pushed Kate away from Sue. Aiming the can at her face she sprayed the pregnant girl, dousing her with the potent mist.

  Kate Bushell screamed like a banshee as she dropped to the ground on all fours. Her hands clawed at her watering eyes as she gagged and gasped for air.

  ‘Fucking bitch,’ Kate cried between coughs.

  With Kate out of action, Lexie ran towards Donaldson thrashing wildly on the ground and drenched him with the capsicum spray. Everyone struggling with him dived out of the way, covering their faces as best they could with hands and clothing.

  It took a good few soakings of the poison before it had the desired effect on the tattooed giant. Still fighting and screaming profanities, but blinded by the stinging and the stream of wet liquid pouring from his eyes, they were finally able to restrain him. The other two bikies were now quick to surrender, lying face down on the grass with their wrists behind their backs. They were promptly handcuffed and placed under arrest.

  ‘Lexie, get the garden hose and wash out your eyes, decontaminate yourself.’

  Harrison was yelling at her but she couldn’t answer; could only stare at him.

  ‘Lexie, are you all right? Lexie?’

  She felt faint, woozy and seriously dizzy. Purple dots danced before her eyes. Then her knees buckled and the ground came up to meet her face.

  CHAPTER 5

  Rex Donaldson had seen the inside of many a police station in his forty-five years, but never before from the confines of a clear perspex dock. To say he wasn’t thrilled with his predicament would be a gross understatement. He was furious! Clenching his jaw, Rex forced himself to breathe deeply in an attempt to calm his accelerating heartbeat.

  He’d been set up. Of that much he was certain. The drugs were not his. Nor did they belong to any of his men. So he was left simmering angrily and wondering who was responsible for planting them on his property. And why?

  He pondered the possibilities. They were limitless. Bikie gangs, and individual bikies, made enemies sometimes without trying and without knowing it. In the twelve months since Rex had been placed in the influential position of sergeant-at-arms of the Devil’s Guardians, he’d been fortunate in that the club had run smoothly. Its members had been mostly well behaved, so he’d had no cause to deal with any unpleasant situations – until recently.

  The pub brawl with Maggot came to mind. He wondered; was that incident alone enough to re-ignite the bad blood, which had lain dormant for years, between his club and the Assassins? If the lunatic, Maggot, was the culprit, Rex would delight in giving him what for. The man was a thoroughly nasty misfit, a danger to everyone who came in contact with him. Ever since Rex had smashed him for groping Kate, Maggot had been slagging off Rex saying that he and the Devils would pay. But was Maggot really capable of going to the length of planting drugs on their property? Only if Max Croft and the Assassins were behind him, helping him, Rex thought.

  The last thing Rex wanted was a bikie war. There were never any winners. Though if he found out another gang was responsible for loading him up he would have no choice but to retaliate. He was the ‘enforcer’. It was his job to maintain the standards of his chapter; to defuse potentially violent situations and keep the peace. But how could his members respect him, where would his credibility be, if he didn’t stand up for himself and his club?

  A phone on the counter rang, interrupting his thoughts. No one bothered to answer it. The radio squawked from an old speaker stuck high on a wall. Computers beeped. Keyboards clicked. A printer spat documents into a tray. Blue uniforms in different shapes and sizes, male and female, young and old, buzzed in and out of the room, laughing and joking with each other, debating what to have for dinner, where to go for a drink after work.

  Rex watched a young policewoman, the shape of a beach ball, do her best to get the senior detective’s attention. Harrison was his name, wasn’t it? Flittering around him, she asked, begged almost, if she could do anything to help. Rex found her desperation amusing. The bitch didn’t have a hope in hell; he was way out of her league. She’d have to lower her standards dramatically, he thought. You can’t have caviar tastes with a pizza face!

  An old station sergeant stood on the other side of the room counting money. His bloated gut rested against the counter, his blue shirt strained at the seams. Judging by the bored expression on his creased features, Rex would hazard a guess he was just waiting out his time, counting down the days until retirement.

  Rex glanced sideways at Kate, who sat in an identical transparent cage to his right. She was glaring at Harrison, who stood behind the counter in front of them, shuffling paperwork, paying her no attention.

  ‘I have to pee,’ she yelled.

  ‘Almost done,’ the detective told her without looking up. ‘You will be free to pee in a minute.’

  ‘I’ll just piss on the floor then, how’d you like that?’ Spitting at the door of her tiny cell, Rex watched her saliva land on the translucent wall. The detective glanced up, cocked an eyebrow in amusement, and turned back to his paperwork.

  She could be such a bitch – but he loved her. He could also fully understand her frustration. The pissed idiot in the cage to his left had chucked all over himself and the stench of vomit and alcohol was turning Rex’s stomach. It felt like they’d been sitting in this charge room forever. And if he’d chosen to be interviewed they’d have been held even longer. Though that wasn’t the reason he’d refused to make a statement. There was no point. No one was going to believe the drugs didn’t belong to him or one of his gang members. They were bikies.
Bikies had a reputation for being involved in the manufacture, sale and distribution of drugs – amongst other things.

  Rex shook his head in disbelief. Did the cops really think they were that stupid, that unprofessional, to leave their stash lying around unsecured and unprotected? If so, they had less idea of the running of a bikie club than he would have thought.

  ‘How much longer?’ Rex asked.

  Detective Harrison threw him a quick glance. ‘I’m almost finished processing these charges,’ he said briskly. ‘Won’t be long now.’

  Rex studied his hands and worried about what Scud would do when he found out about the raid. Derek Gormley, aka Scud, who’d derived his name from the missile due to his explosive personality, was their president. He never tired of telling Rex that it was his responsibility to keep things under control and he feared that today’s events might be enough to send Scud completely over the edge. The truth was, Scud was not handling the pressure very well of late. The leadership role was an extremely stressful position and had worn Scud down. Some thrived on pressure, some crumbled.

  Recently Scud’s wife had left him due to his drinking, gambling and temper. This had led to the president’s increasing absence from club activities, leaving Rex to preside over meetings and be the liaison officer for club business. Club money had also gone missing. Rex suspected it had been used to pay off Scud’s gambling debts but nothing could be proved so allegations couldn’t be made. Rex secretly hoped Scud would stand down and relinquish his position as president, but realistically he knew pride would prevent him doing so.

  His thoughts jumped back to why he was here. Whoever had done this would be laughing at them right now. He clenched his fists as he felt the anger build again. It would have been way too easy. Their temporary residence had no security; no cameras, no dog, not even a decent fence to keep an intruder out. The shed had no lock. Someone probably just snuck around the back in the middle of the night and dumped the box in the shed. It would have taken only seconds. He cursed his own stupidity.