One, two, three steps I take, with Roland right behind me, still covering any threat. I lift my leg and launch it straight into the wood. The door bursts open.
“What the fuck?” he yells. A tall, broad man wearing camouflage throws his arms high into the air. He shakes his head as I aim my revolver directly at his chest.
“Winston Sampson?” I’m calm.
“Yes.”
“Detective Astin West from Rockhampton CBI. Do you have a weapon on your person?”
“Yes.”
“Please disarm yourself. Slowly.”
Only one of his arms lowers past his hair that appears to be clumped with mud, before continuing by his blue eyes that shine under bright lighting. He stops when he reaches his waist. “I’m going to put my hand behind my back to get my pistol.”
“Don’t do anything stupid.”
His hand disappears until it slowly reappears by his hip, holding a black Glock.
“Put it on the ground, slowly,” I instruct.
Winston gingerly bends his knees, leaving one hand placed behind his head, sliding the gun across the floorboards before resuming his upright position.
“Do you have any more weapons on your person?” My voice rises a fraction.
“No.”
“Step back,” I demand.
He does.
“Search him.” I relax my grip on my weapon and some of the tension in my shoulders as Roland marches towards our suspect.
“Turn around,” Roland commands. “Hands behind your head, legs spread.”
“What is this about?” Winston says as he stands with his fingers linked behind his head and widens his stance.
Neither of us reply.
I don’t take my eyes from the pat-down taking place. Instead, I remain alert for any possible threats that might come my partner's way. Roland completes his examination upon reaching Winston’s muddy boots.
“I have rights. Am I under arrest? What have I done?”
Neither of us answer.
Roland rises, nodding in my direction. “He’s clear.”
It’s what I was waiting for him to say. Winston isn’t harbouring anything else harmful inside his clothing.
I lower my gun and place it back in the holster, knowing I’m protected by the two highly trained SERT officers at my back. They won’t lower their rifles. Instead, they’ll keep them aimed at Winston’s chest, ready to deliver a bullet if needed.
“Do you know Morgan Banks?” I stand stoically. I’m in command, and if this thing blows up, it’s all on my head. After all, it’s not normal practice for a country town detective to lead a tactical crime team in the first place. I’m just fortunate that Eli, who controls all special emergency, was in my unit when I used to run my own SERT team years ago.
“No. I don’t.”
“Are you sure?”
“I don’t know her.” Winston’s hands remain pressed against the back of his skull. His legs are still parted from the search.
“She’s a local woman who’s gone missing. She’s also a wife of a client whose car you detail.”
“I don’t know her.” His lips are pursed.
“I don’t believe you. Morgan’s also the ex-girlfriend of your brother Falcon Sampson.”
His eyes widen. “Morgan. As in, Falcon’s high school girlfriend, Morgan? Morgan?”
“Yes,” I say.
“I know her then.” He exhales. “I haven’t seen her for a very long time though, not since Falcon finished school. She’s missing?”
“Since Thursday night. Where were you Thursday night between the hours of five and eight?”
He lifts his chin slightly and turns his eyes to look towards the ceiling. He stays in this position for almost a minute before he returns his attention back to me. “Thursday was the night we got that storm. It’s what had me delayed in going hunting.” He pauses. “I was at work. I left work late, and then I came home. I would have been driving home in that timeframe.”
“You didn’t stop on your way to get petrol or meet up with anyone?” He’s lying, but I need to give him a chance to rearrange his thoughts before I slap on the cuffs and get his arse hauled down to the station.
He shakes his head. “No. No, not Thursday night.” His eyes narrow when he stops speaking. “Actually, yes, I did. I stopped to help some lady fix a tyre ... an SUV, it was.”
“Morgan’s tyre?”
His lips part. His eyes bulge. “Nah. Mate, you’ve got this wrong. That was Morgan?”
“Yes.”
“I had no clue. Shit, it’s been more than ten years since I’ve seen her. Fuck! Hang on. No, no, no, you ain’t pinning this shit on me.” He’s immediately agitated. He drops his arms to his sides. “Mate. No. I didn’t take that woman.” He points to my chest. “I’ve been out fucking Whoop Whoop since early Friday morning. Search my shit. I had nothing to do with any lady going missing, let alone someone who dated my brother. I’ve got nothing to hide.”
“Winston Sampson, this is a warrant to search your house, land, and vehicles.” Roland holds the warrant out in front of him, and Winston takes it gently from his pinched fingers.
“Search away.” Winston’s shoulders slump as Roland retrieves the handcuffs from his belt.
“Come on. You don’t need to cuff me. By now you must know who I used to be and what I used to do. There’s no need for the cuffs. I’m not going to bolt. I’ll tell you what you want to know. Search. I’ve got nothing to hide.”
“Ex-military, and a runner for the mafia,” I prod.
He drops his head. “I’m not proud of my past. Look, I live out here away from society and keep to myself. I-I … That life is well and truly behind me.”
“Vactrim Blight?” I keep my statements short and to the point, letting him talk, giving him a moment to slip up.
He lifts his head and grins. “Yeah. That’s me. It’s easier than people finding out who I used to be, you know. Even though my work for the underworld wasn’t disclosed, people still find ways to figure out who Winston Sampson was. Bloody mafia groupies hunt you down, even aeons later.”
I shake my head towards Roland, who instantly slaps the handcuffs around his wrists.
“Come on. Seriously?” Winston sighs.
“Groupies?” I continue my questioning.
He nods. “Women who want to marry you. Men who want to be you. Take your pick.”
The radio is in my hand. “Team red, begin searching from the lake outwards. Team yellow and green, begin your search in surrounding property. Team blue, search the vehicles and house.”
There’s a moment of silence.
“Team red, understood.
“Team green, beginning search.
“Team yellow, beginning search.
“Team blue, coming in.”
“Shit.” Winston cocks his eyebrows. “I knew you’d have me well and truly surrounded.” He shakes his head. “I come back early because Luna radios me to tell me there’s been a fire, possibly near my land, and I'm confronted with this bullshit. Fuck my life,” he mutters.
“Fire?” My shoulders stiffen.
“Punk kids do it all the time. Come into the bush and start spot fires that get out of hand. You guys should be thanking us. We put most of them out ourselves, as quick as they start. Someone has to stop a massive bushfire.”
“Whose Luna?”
“A hermit that lives a few properties over. She’s been livin’ out here longer than the lot of us. She knows this bush like the back of her hand. Every nook and cranny.”
“Where did she say this fire was?”
“You tell me. That’s what I was about to do—check it out. Luna said there was a fire. That’s it.”
I place the radio to my mouth. “Team red, you need to look for an area where a fire has been burning or is still burning. Any smoke you see, head in that direction. Morgan might have lit it for us to find her.”
“Shit,” Winston exhales. “Poor Morgan. You think she’s out there in the bush somewhere?”
I look Winston up and down but don’t answer. “I have questions.”
“You let me have a smoke out on the veranda, and I’ll tell ya whatever ya want to know.”
I swing my arm outwards. “After you.”
Winston sits on the rusted chair beside the table. Rubbing his wrists now absent from the handcuffs I removed, with a lit cigarette hanging from his bottom lip.
I bring the lighter to the end of my own cigarette, cupping my hand to contain the flame. I keep my eyes fixed on Winston, watching his every move. “Falcon—”