‘Hello, Jane. It’s Eric Ringer.’
Jane stood with her mobile held to her ear.
‘You probably don’t remember me.’
She remembered him very well.
‘It’s probably been twenty years.’
It had been twenty-three.
‘We worked together on the Point Cook shooting.’
How could anyone fail to remember that?
‘Hello, Eric,’ she said at last. ‘I must admit you were the last person I expected to phone. Especially at half past eight on a Friday night. Are you still in Canberra?’
‘No, I came back to be closer to the family. I was happy with the Federal Police, but this Covid thing made travel too hard – and with the ex and the kids still in Melbourne . . . I’m back with Victoria Police again, as Head of Homicide.’
‘So, how can I help you, Eric?’
‘Work, I’m afraid.’
‘Don’t apologise for that.’
‘This one you probably won’t thank me for.’
Which seemed a strange thing for a policeman to say.
‘I’m at the crime scene now if you’re interested – and available. It’s one you should see for yourself. I don’t usually say this, but I genuinely don’t know where to start.’
Leave a Reply