Payback - Harvey Cleggett

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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.

Illustration

      CHAPTER

      3

      The Crime Department building was a nineteen storey, unremarkable structure opposite the Melbourne Grammar School. Moves were afoot by the police executive to relocate all staff to a purpose built complex in the city precinct. Neither Ballard nor John figured they need hold their breath on the building’s completion.

      Ballard piloted the Chrysler into the underground car park, stopping at the boom gate. “Morning Rob. Any news on the home front?”

      The Protective Security Officer shook his head. “Not yet, sir. The doctor will induce tomorrow if nothing happens in the meantime.” He raised the boom, throwing a quick salute.

      Ballard smiled back. “Give Sophie my best. I’m betting on a boy.” Easing around the tight corners he expertly manoeuvred the large car into the bay allocated to him, another condition of his remaining in the job.

      Once in the lift, John stabbed the eighth floor button; both men stood looking up at the illuminated numbers. Emerging onto the floor they were confronted with a scene which at first appeared to be confused, almost frenetic activity set in an open plan environment. On closer scrutiny it was in fact professional police officers engaged in very specific tasks.

      This was the engine-room of homicide investigations: endless checking of criminal histories in the offender database; preparing statements for briefs of evidence with an exacting eye for detail and accuracy to negate the potential of having the charges declared inadmissible in court; examining photographs of crime scenes or suspects and offenders, comparing them against driver licence photos accessed on-line from VicRoads; endless calls to witnesses or confidential sources; pouring over forensic evidence prepared by the laboratory.

      This scene reinforced for Ballard why he was still a policeman and he knew it had the same motivation for John. He shook his head, wondering how he could ever have contemplated walking away.

      Officers throughout the floor looked up and waved at the two men, then, in the majority refocussed on their specific tasks, several calling out a morning greeting. While John went to discuss progress with his team, Ballard headed for the superintendent’s office. In the process he walked past pinboards containing photos of suspects or known criminals; whyteboards with cryptic messages relating to particular cases; staff rosters and desks scattered with files containing information essential for criminal cases and operational activities. As he neared the office he reflex straightened his tie.

      Delwyn Peters, his direct superior, had made Detective Superintendent two years before she was transferred to Homicide. Embracing the male dominated environment she soon proved her effectiveness as an investigator, demonstrating how adept she was at managing strong willed personnel. Any misgivings Ballard felt at the beginning of her tenure soon evaporated, resulting in their working relationship becoming rock solid due to the mutual respect they had for each other.

      He gave a cursory tap on the open door. “Top of the morning Delwyn.”

      Blue eyes crinkling into a smile as she waved him to an empty chair. “Thanks for coming in on such short notice Michael.”

      He shrugged nonchalantly. “Last time I checked you were still paying my wages.”

      “Even so, much appreciated.”

      Ballard noticed she had cut her steel grey hair into a military style short back and sides. It suited her, but he refrained from commenting.

      “This one could blow up in our face Mike.” Ballard’s expression invited clarification. “Some of the reporters are muttering underworld hit. They haven’t put pen to paper yet, but it won’t be long.”

      “Could it be?”

      “Always possible, but the deceased hasn’t any significant record or criminal links we know of. There’s no intelligence in our database… nothing. Should the press suggest a hit it would spook the public making our job that much harder. We’d be busting a gut to solve a crime while chewing up resources to prove the rumour was false.”

      Ballard stroked his chin, reflecting. “How long before this snowballs into a major headline that we’re not moving fast enough?”

      “You’re a better judge of these things than I am. A day. Three days at the most. The Chief’s already warned me this needs fixing, one way or the other… and fast.”

      Ballard leaned forward in his chair. “Delwyn, I’ll do everything I can to assist. You know how good John is on these cases. I want him to retain the lead, but if I think

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