Serpent Song. Toni Grant
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He looked directly at the detective. “Why? Have you seen this before Francesca?”
“No Sir. The number twenty-five is significant to the Chinese. But identification of any kind is not common practice. I believe a brand over the heart is more symbolic. In a weird way, I guess, romantic. Chi You is too clinical.”
Goodwood nodded. “Well you are the expert where that group is concerned. Who do you suggest is behind it then?”
“Branding is also used as an intimidation tactic between rivals and followers. So we thought we’d check recent mob activities,” Johnno answered.
“Good. You think Italian or Middle Eastern?” the inspector enquired.
“We’re not sure, Sir. Branding and burning flesh … I believe it’s more Italian. Old-school Italian,” Francesca responded.
“Keep me informed. Who else do you need on the case? I want this sorted a.s.a.p. Fucking elections. Eight months can’t come soon enough. Francesca get me something on paper by 2pm so I can get it to legal.”
Francesca shifted uncomfortably at the inspector’s penetrating gaze. “The Minister in all his wisdom has called a press conference for 3pm today. He wants to set up a task force.”
“Yes Sir,” she responded.
“I think a task force is a bit of a waste of time and resources at the moment, Sir.” Johnno’s response drew an arched eyebrow from the inspector. He continued, “We really have nothing but speculation to show that it is the beginning of anything much. If it turns out to be Middle Eastern mafia we can link up with the boys and their current operations. Francesca and I can handle the preliminary investigation at present.”
Goodwood thought about it for a moment. “You have until the end of the day.”
“Thank you, Sir.”
“And another thing, keep your bloody phones switched on! You’re no good to me if I can’t talk to you and don’t give me that out-of-range bullshit.”
“Yes, Sir,” they replied in unison.
~
Francesca stretched her arms high, arched her tired back and shoulders and rested her hands behind her head. Shutting her eyes to the data tables swimming on the computer screen before her, her head momentarily relaxed forward to her chest. She knew the places and names like the back of her hand and still no connection to this morning’s murder.
Johnno yawned loudly as his stomach let out a hungry growl.
“My thoughts exactly,” she said, her eyes remaining shut. “I need food too.” The thought of a hot dinner had her salivate instantly. “Coming?”
Her partner simply stood and grabbed his coat. “I know a great place,” he began, already at the door of their shared office.
The contrast of the cool night air and the rush of the hour nipped at her senses forcing her to step back momentarily. People and traffic streamed everywhere, racing like ants in the hours before a western rain storm. It was bumper to bumper this time of night.
Francesca observed the rush, double stepping to keep pace with Johnno. Office staff darted amongst the stationery cars scurrying to meet train and bus timetables. A small family of disoriented tourists checked a map huddling together in the set back doorway of a vacant shop front.
Booths of food outlets were crammed with school girls, noisily vying for attention and texting endlessly. Everywhere Francesca looked an entire city was tired and hassled.
The red-headed detective strode towards the corner pub.
They chose a booth that had a view of the television. “My shout, what would you like?” Francesca offered. Tonight’s $10 menu was homemade rissoles, gravy and vegetables.
“Sweet,” Johnno replied. “I’ll have the special.”
Francesca wandered to the bar, ordered the drinks and food and turned to watch the news. The Police Minister was struggling.
“He looked like a wanker tonight. Does that mean I’m in for it tomorrow?” Francesca asked, concerned about the repercussions.
“Nah, the boss is good. Just keep Goodwood in the loop.”
“Yeah that would be easy if I had something worthwhile to report,” she said as Johnno’s phone sounded the ACDC classic Thunderstruck over the bar room noise.
“Jonathan McCrae.” He listened intently as the caller spoke, madly nodding and taking notes on a serviette. Finally he replied, “Yes. Thanks mate. I’ll let the boss know. No worries. Cheers.”
“Sir. It’s Johnno. Lab says the body found this morning is a known member of the Ares Outlaw Motor Cycle Gang, Clyde Fletcher.”
There was a pause.
“Yes Sir. I’ll let Francesca know. Thank you Sir. Good night.”
Detective Jonathan McCrae turned to his partner, who was staring at him. Her eyebrow arched a question. He grinned at her, his freckled face split like a watermelon.
Francesca thought Johnno was about to burst. “Well?” she enquired.
“You’re looking at the leader of a new taskforce … Operation Serpent.” He grinned again. “When we get back to the office, I need a detailed summary of the relevant information on hand at the moment. The groundwork for this investigation has to be solid. Your role is to keep an eye on the legalities of every aspect of this operation as well as taking on a key investigative role. Don’t be afraid to show initiative. Copy?”
“Copy.” Francesca couldn’t hide her own enthusiasm. Another case to sink her teeth into and she beamed across the table at him.
“We’ll be joined by key members of the OMCG taskforce tomorrow morning.” He pushed out from the table. “Ready? I want to make a decent start tonight.”
~
“Here, Johnno, the rap sheet for Clyde Fletcher,” Francesca said. “Assault police causing grievous bodily harm, possession of prohibited substance to supply, armed robbery. Spent some time in Long Bay but released on good behaviour … huh … weird. Only lasted eight months on a five year sentence. Stabbing offences. Firearms offences. More drug offences. Current warrant issued for his arrest based on latest armed holdup at the TAB on the South Coast last month. And that’s only NSW. I haven’t even started on the other states.”
Francesca continued to read the intelligence summary.
“Became a member of the Ares in 2000 after Long Bay stint and has risen steadily through the ranks. Sits at the round table. Sounds like a dedicated follower to me. Wonder why he was a traitor? Could have been patching over to Chi You, I suppose. It would explain the public exposure and the lack of initiation markings.”
“Yeah…. Could be possible.” Lost in thought, Johnno tapped out a percussion beat. “Ares setting up Chi You over one lost follower? A bit over-dramatic if you ask me. There has to be more to it than that.”
A chart projected onto the wall created a grid pattern, within which, known illegal activities and key persons of interest were listed. On a detailed map of Sydney beside it, green circles highlighted areas of known Chi You activities. A blue X marked the location of Clyde Fletcher’s body and another dotted the approximate location of the suspicious SUV. An arrow directed the view of the driver who’d faced Francesca.
Known links to the Melbourne-based Italian mob were cross-referenced with Middle Eastern organised crime syndicate activities. This grid and map system provided a quick visual of any correlations between the groups.
Along another wall, Francesca had begun pinning close up photographs of the tattoos found on Clyde Fletcher’s body, as well as some location shots.
The pair sat staring at the boards in front of them. Not one overlapped in boundaries, which was hardly surprising.