Breaking Point (Chapter-5)

It was still dark at 4.30 am when Boston-Wright woke to get ready for her trip north to Brisbane. Queensland was an hour behind NSW time, making her early start feel even earlier. A quick piece of toast and vegemite washed down with a cup of instant coffee was all Boston-Wright could manage as she raced out the door to fire up her car for the two-hour journey to Police Headquarters in Roma Street Brisbane, home of Detective Sergeant Peter Tebbit.

The traffic flow through the Tweed was moving at a good pace, but a snarl at Elanora and Nerang slowed her down to a crawl. Boston-Wright anticipated this and had left early so as to make her 8am appointment. But the highway carpark at Springwood was another story, leaving Boston-Wright quite frustrated and somewhat anxious about being late. The road was a sea of cars barely moving, making Boston-Wright wonder why all these people would do this on a daily basis. Give her sleepy old Bangalow any day. Once through Springwood, the pace picked up and Boston-Wright was once again travelling at 100 kms/hour.

At 7.50 am Qld time, Boston-Wright turned right off the Southeast Freeway onto the Turbot Street exit and then made her way along Roma Street to the Queensland Police Headquarters. The building was prominent, making a statement by taking up most of the block and just a short walk from the court precinct, where many criminals had met their day. Entering the customer carpark bang on five minutes to eight, Bob the attendant steered Boston-Wright toward a vacant lot and advised her that DS Peter Tebbit was on the 4th floor and to just take the lift.

Boston-Wright pressed the lift button for the 4th floor, tugging on her jacket with her other hand to straighten herself up. She brushed her fringe off her face, gave herself a bit of a shuffle to relax the nerves and focused on the ascending numbers. The doors opened and she made her way across the navy carpeted entrance with the police insignia woven into the fabric. Behind the bullet proof glass at the counter sat a fresh-faced constable who politely asked Boston-Wright to complete the security form while she fetched Tebbit.

A timber door flung open. There stood an overweight, 50-something year old man, combed back self-dyed hair and a beer belly hanging over his belt, flashing his pearly whites as if his good looks would melt any woman on the planet. Everything Creed had said about Tebbit was right before Boston-Wright in full color.

Holding the door open with his right arm, Tebbit beckoned Boston-Wright to enter his inner sanctum. “Where’s that old grumpy prick Creed?” he bellowed, offering to shake Boston-Wright’s hand. She reluctantly offered her hand, which was met by his, limp and sweating palm, while he directed her between his bulging stomach and the door arch into an open plan office area with private offices along the left perimeter. There was barely enough room, leaving Boston-Wright no option but to brush past DS Tebbit, something he knew would occur from previous invites. Sleazy. Just as Creed described as Boston-Wright made her way as quickly as she could inside, hopefully to be seen by other officers. At least then she would feel safe.

With his left arm pointing toward the third office along the wall, Boston-Wright made her way into Tebbit’s private office. Thankfully, the wall to the open floor was made of glass. Boston-Wright felt a little uncomfortable in the presence of Tebbit. Tebbit gave her the once over as he sat back into his desk chair, which squeaked as his overweight frame squeezed between the arm rests. Red-faced and the bottom buttons of his shirt gaping, Tebbit was not a pretty sight, let alone a healthy one.

“Where the fuck is Creed?” he barked at Boston-Wright. “I left a message that I had some info for his case and the prick doesn’t have the decency to come up here and talk to me about it? Instead he sends the junior. What a bloody insult!”

“He was tied up, so he asked me to see you. I am on the murder case too,” Boston-Wright replied, feeling somewhat inadequate as she applied pressure to her intertwined hands, trying to overcome her nerves.

“And that arsehole Pratt? He’d be out sipping lattes in some coffee shop, no doubt. Tied up my arse. Phone Creed and tell him to get off his butt and get up here. I will only pass on my info to the man leading the case. Not the help, sweetheart.”

“Truly, sir, Detectives Creed and Pratt are tied up. Carmel Smith sends her best regards.” Boston-Wright looked pensive, hoping she was making some in-roads. “You may know my father, Bruno Boston?” Boston-Wright hated hanging onto her father’s coattails but sometimes he came in handy.

“You Bruno’s daughter? Why didn’t you say?”

Boston-Wright smiled as Tebbit recalled the good old days he had spent with her father. Nothing was new to her, though. She had heard the stories hundreds of times before. Maybe one day people will fondly tell stories of her, but for now she needed to get Tebbit back to the current day.

“So you have some information for us, Detective?” Boston-Wright butted in and tried to steer the conversation back to the case in hand.

“One of my informants may have whispered something in my ear. Is there a reward?”

Cheeky bugger, Boston-Wright thought. Creed had schooled her up prior to meeting Tebbit. Apparently Tebbit had claimed a few rewards in the past under the guise of an informant, according to Creed. He was investigated about 5 years ago about some claim, but a lack of evidence didn’t make it stick.

“No reward, detective,” Boston-Wright put innocently but without confidence.

“No fucking reward. Five bloody deaths and no reward. You’ve got to be joking.” Tebbit glared back at Boston-Wright, sizing her up to see if she was bluffing. “It’s getting late, I’ve got another meeting and I’ll need to chat to my informant to see if he wants me to pass his info on. Where are you staying tonight?”

Hell would have to freeze over before Boston-Wright imparted that knowledge to him. “Not sure. I may head back to the Coast,” Boston-Wright delivered in an unconvincing tone, avoiding eye contact with Tebbit.

“Whatever, honey. Let’s chat in the morning over breakfast. At the Hilton?” Tebbit smiled, knowing full well it was the Hilton where his interstate colleagues stayed when visiting Brisbane. Having shown Boston-Wright he was no dummy and not a man to be messed with, he quickly intervened with, “Nah, let’s make it here at 9. Good morning, detective.”

Boston-Wright stood, shook his wet fish hand, and left Tebbit’s office. Riding the lift to the ground floor, she knew Tebbit had played her today and that Creed would not be impressed. She took some deep breaths as she exited the building and walked to the carpark. The clear blue sky and light breeze lifted her spirits and helped calm her nerves before she had to call Creed. At least a night in a 5 star Hilton luxury hotel would give her a boost. Pity she didn’t have somebody to spend the night with her. Hopping into her car, she returned to Earth at the thought of Peter Tebbit hitting on her.

Boston-Wright did a u-turn on Roma Street and headed toward Turbot Street, joining the traffic of eager drivers dying to get to their next appointments. She dialed Creed using the hands free.

“Not much luck, sir. I’m seeing him again in the morning. He says he’s got some info but needs to clear it with his informant. You were right, he asked for a reward.”

“Told you. Bloody bent copper. There is no informant.” Creed let out a sigh of frustration. “You didn’t tell him where you were staying, I hope?”

“I might be blond, sir, but I’m not stupid.”

“Okay, Boston-Wright. Let’s see if tomorrow brings some better news.”

Creed rubbed his forehead with his thumb and index finger while gazing down at the paperwork on his desk. It had been four weeks since Thompson had been killed and the case was going colder by the minute. The Chief Super was looking for another update and he had nothing to give. He was losing his grip, and if the tide didn’t turn soon, he’d lose the case to another officer. And that was not on Jack Creed’s resume. He always solved his cases. He called Pratt into his office.

“Not more overtime, Jack,” Pratt tentatively said. “The boys need a break.”

“We are going nowhere, Greg. Dr. Russell phoned an hour ago. No DNA on Thompson. Fark! When are we going to get a break?” Creed let out his frustration. Smith looked up from her desk. She could hardly miss the outburst. Most probably the entire team heard it as well.

“And Boston-Wright? How did she get on with your mate Tebbit” Pratt asked.

“She’s seeing him again tomorrow. Didn’t get a lot out of the cunning prick today.”

“Well, a nice steak and a bottle of red at Victoria’s and a good sleep in a nice comfy bed should ease the pain. I’m sure Boston-Wright will be smiling. Did she have company?” Pratt said, looking down at Creed, who returned a distant stare. “Pray she didn’t let Tebbit know where she was staying. He’d be there in a flash.”

“Give her a break, Pratt. She’s not that stupid or desperate.”

Boston-Wright returned to the police headquarters at exactly 9am. Tebbit invited Boston-Wright into his office, again wedging himself between her and the doorframe. Boston-Wright gave him the look that spelt loser in volumes. He returned a sleazy smile, the booze evident from the night before as he burped with her passing.

Once again he squeezed into his office chair, his spare tyre hanging over his belt, giving full view to Boston-Wright of his hairy belly button. And to think this guy thought he had a chance with her the night before.

“So what have you got, Detective Tebbit? Has your informant given you the okay?” Boston-Wright asked in a firm matter, wanting to wrap up this meeting as quickly as possible so she could return to Kingscliff.

“Um, he’s not impressed, but here’s what I got from him.” Tebbitt realized it was futile to keep the mirage going on any further. “My mate is ex-Army. Served in Vietnam.”

“Yeah,” Boston-Wright nodded impatiently.

“Well, he read that all the victims had their hands tied behind their backs from the newspaper articles.”

“Yes, but that’s common knowledge, Detective. Like you said, it was in all the papers.”

“But it’s the way they were tied. With handcuffs.”

Christ, this is like pulling teeth. Boston-Wright let out a sigh in frustration.

“They were Smith & Wessons, right? The same brand issued to the military police in the Australian armed services back in Vietnam. Your killer is a Vietnam vet. Bingo! Case closed,” Tebbit let out with gusto, imagining himself as some sort of Sherlock Holmes.

Boston-Wright nodded cautiously, taking Tebbit’s analysis in. “Thanks, Detective Tebbit. I must get back to the Coast.”

“No lunch, honey?”

“No, Detective. A name has just popped into my head. Got to fly.”