“Dead or alive?”
“Alive. Just,” Jack Rowland told him.
“Some bloody gems around, aren’t there?”
Jack Rowland’s intercom buzzed. “Mr Delarosa’s here, sir,” said his PA.
“Send him in.”
“Yes, sir.”
As the door opened, Commissioner Jack Rowland walked over to greet his Senior Sergeant’s new partner. “Tony,” he called, thrusting out his hand, “meet Senior Sergeant Ken McLoughlin.”
The two shook hands in a professional manner and Jack Rowland told the new man to pull up a chair.
“So,” he began, “as Sammy Davis Junior once sang in a song, ‘This is the moment.’ You get a car park all right?”
“Yes, sir, in the compound.”
It was a very nervous response from Tony Delarosa. He looked over at McLoughlin. “I’m really sorry about Dave Bourke…”
“Yeah OK,” McLoughlin acknowledged. “So tell me? Mildura. You been up there yet?”
“Got back last night…”
“What do you think of the place?”
“It’s a bit hard to say at the moment. I’ve just been driving around looking for a place to live.”
“You find one?”
“Well, yes I have. Ten minutes from the station. Ground floor unit in a block of five. New paint. New carpet. Looks nice. Garage. Backyard. Small, but it’s big enough. I can have it in two weeks.”
“You got family?” McLoughlin asked him.
Senior Constable Delarosa smiled lightly and nodded. “I have a very large family. Lots of aunties and uncles. I think you blokes would say something like, ‘Yeah, typical bloody wog, ask one to dinner and half of Italy turns up.’”
McLoughlin grinned and rose to his feet. “OK, Senior Constable Tony Delarosa, formerly from the Hawthorn police station and now of Mildura. I’m about to take my leave. I’ll be gone for about six weeks. I’ll call you a few days out and meet up with you in Mildura. OK?”
“Yes, of course.”
Jack Rowland rose from behind his desk and held out his hand to the Senior Constable. “Good luck, Tony. I’m sure things are going to work out just fine.”
“Thank you, sir.”
Delarosa shook McLoughlin’s hand. “Sergeant.”
“See you soon.”
After Delarosa left, Jack Rowland looked at McLoughlin. “Well?”
McLoughlin shrugged. “Suck it and see, I guess.”
“OK. Let’s have a look at this brand new schmicked up load of bullshit down in the shed.”
McLoughlin never tired of the smell of a brand new car. And this one was indeed very, very new. One of only two produced specifically by the Ford Motor Company at the request of the Victorian Police Department, it was a purpose-built XR8 with light armour plate fixed to the floor and to the inside of the doors. The back window, windscreen and door windows had been fitted with bullet-proof glass and the suspension had been upgraded and re-enforced to cope with the extra weight. The interior of the vehicle was all leather, mahogany and deep pile carpet and under the bonnet a highly ‘tweaked’ V8 engine offering close to three hundred brake horse power.
McLoughlin loved it. What he particularly enjoyed was being handed the keys to the vehicle by Geoff Polites, the President of the Ford Motor Company in Australia. From the moment Ford received a proposal to develop the two XR8s, Polites had been present at every meeting with police chiefs, heads of government departments and defence officials to make sure everything, down to the smallest detail had been taken care of. It was also in his interest to do so, because if the vehicles were a success, police departments across Australia had indicated their intentions to place orders for similar cars.
McLoughlin was also fascinated with the advanced communications technology that had been installed. A GPS navigation system, voice guidance in seeking a destination, VHF and UHF transmitters and a satellite telephone. In the centre console, full telephone, fax, email and internet facilities became operational purely by attaching his mobile phone and pressing the ON button.
As he wound his way out of Melbourne, he pulled into a parking bay and used his mobile phone. He found Kazumi’s number and dialled it. The phone had hardly rung when it was picked up.
“Oh, Sergeant Ken, I wait for you to call. You say maybe two days. Is everything all right?” she asked exuberantly.
“Kazumi, my deepest and most humble apologies. I was on my way when I got a call and had to make a detour.”
“That OK. But I worry something happen maybe. Has something happened? You not coming now?”
McLoughlin distinctly detected the disappointment in her tone. He smiled. “No. Everything is wonderful. I have a few weeks off and I’ll be there this afternoon.”
“Oh, Sergeant Ken you here today? Kazumi called enthusiastically.
“About four or five hours.”
“Sergeant Ken, that is wonderful. Everybody. They be very happy to see you, but they not here now. Miss Katie, she in Naracoorte. Mr Gabe. It shearing time.”
“Don’t worry about the others, Kazumi,” he interrupted her. “What about you?”
“Me?”
“I need to know if you’ll be happy to see me because I’m really coming down to see you. The others? Sure! I love ‘em to death. But I’m coming to see you.”
Silence fell on the line and McLoughlin heard the tiniest of sniffles. “You hurry, Sergeant Ken, I think I better put some wood on the fire. I hang up now!” she gushed.
McLoughlin heard the phone cut off. What the hell? he thought.
He leaned down, found the blue light, put it on the roof and hit the siren. He was already on the freeway out of Melbourne so he dropped his foot.
“Jeeesus!” he yelled in total exhilaration.
The massive XR8 launched itself down the bitumen. He had never driven anything like it. McLoughlin was a boy all over again with a brand new toy. His mouth was salivating at the vehicle’s firmness, its road holding and its capacity to corner. But what really took his breath away was the vehicle’s braking. He remembered Polites telling him about it, but until he’d experienced it for himself, he had had no idea.
“Three-channel, anti-lock ABS,” Geoff Polites had told him. “Touch the pedal and you’ll swear someone has whacked a couple of bag hooks onto the seat of your pants and pulled you up.”
McLoughlin touched the brakes. “Awesome! Just totally awesome!” he exuded.
* * *
Kazumi was beside herself. Out of the window she spied Katie’s car pulling up the driveway with Emma and Natasha after their shopping spree. Kazumi ran outside towards her. Katie had hardly brought her car to a standstill when Kazumi was at her door.
“Miss Katie. Oh Miss Katie. Sergeant Ken. He here today. Soon!” she gushed.
“I would never have guessed,” she answered knowingly. “You go on inside,” Katie told the girls. “I’m going down to the shed to talk to your father.”
As Katie got near the platform where the bales of wool are loaded onto trucks for transportation, she heard the familiar call, “DUCKS ON THE POND!” It was