The Petticoat Gang

Chapter 3

3

In the front customer area of the bank, behind the counter where the body of Thomas Freeling lay in a pool of rapidly-congealing blood, Sergeant John Singh, a senior forensic officer, clad from head-to-feet in protective clothing, carefully stepped around the body, taking photographs from various angles. Another similarly clad member stood on the customer side of the counter, carefully studying the floor and the countertop for clues. Outside the bank, in the mall complex, several uniformed officers kept a rapidly growing throng of curious onlookers outside a cordoned off area. Murder, despite its ugliness, seemed to have an element of the curious to it that attracted onlookers like moths to a flame.

The forensic examination of any crime scene was a critical component of any subsequent investigation. More often than not, the successful prosecution of an offender depended on forensic evidence collected at the scene of the crime. Detective Inspector Russell Foley knew that, perhaps better than most, but he was also particular, some believed overly so, about the methodology of evidence collection.

When the forensic members were done, Foley ordered everyone present to leave the crime scene. Those on the staff side of the counter and in the rear area of the bank were to wait in the service lane behind the bank. Those on the customer side were ordered to assemble outside the front doors, in the shopping mall.

Russell Foley was a meticulous cop, one of the few on the job who seemed to take an inordinate amount of time standing alone in a crime scene taking everything in, absorbing the ambience, he called it. Perhaps it was an idiosyncrasy, perhaps not. Either way, Foley didn’t care how others might view his methods. There was something he found helpful about standing alone in a crime scene and examining it minutely with his trained eye. If anything was going to be overlooked, any clue, any tiny piece of evidence, he was not going to be the one that overlooked it. He was not going to allow his crime scene to be contaminated by an overzealous cop trampling all over it before he had the opportunity to examine it himself.

Like Sam Rose, Russell Foley had been on the job a long time, and as unorthodox as his routine might be seen by others, it was the way he had always operated. Particularly at scenes where an unfortunate soul had lost his, or her, life.

Whenever a criminal investigation involving the death of an innocent victim arose, and that was way too often for Foley’s liking, he almost always assumed the role of Officer in Charge. It came with the responsibility of being OIC of Major Crime. Only an absence due to personal illness or annual leave would change that position. He had long ago concluded that he had a personal obligation to the family of the deceased to leave no stone unturned in finding the person or persons responsible for the death of their loved one.

That was not to say that others involved in the investigation didn’t give their utmost to solving the crime; he knew everyone did. It was just that he had a particular way of doing things that worked for him, and that was all that concerned him. If others found that pragmatic, or even problematic, so be it.

Foley squatted on his haunches and looked at the body of Thomas Freeling. The bullet had entered the young man’s forehead almost dead centre. He looked up at the counter and mentally calculated the distance between where Freeling would have been standing and the shooter on the opposite side of the counter. It was a guesstimate at best, but it was a start.

A strong, clear, shatter-proof security panel fixed to the ceiling and the counter top separated the staff member from the customer. Neatly cut into the panel, two conveniently placed gaps, one running vertically from the ceiling down, and one horizontal at counter-top level, allowed for ease of communication between the teller and the customer. They also allowed for the passing back and forth of cash, deposit and withdrawal slips, receipts and any other official bank correspondence transferred between customer and bank staff member.

The distance between shooter and victim and the narrowness of the gaps in the security panel notwithstanding, it would have taken a very good shot to hit the unfortunate young teller in the middle of his forehead through one of those gaps, Foley decided. He stood and stepped back several paces, away from the body.

Earlier he had asked one of the two female staff members to unlock the door separating the customer area from the staff area. Foley stepped through the door and stood in front of the counter, approximately where he figured the perpetrator would have stood. He focused on the gap in the security screen. The gap was easily wide enough to accommodate the barrel of a weapon, he thought. Even so, the shooter still had to be a damn good shot.

Slowly and studiously he ran his eyes back and forth across the floor around where he stood. He was looking for a shell casing. A casing ejected would indicate the murder weapon was an automatic. No shell casing would indicate either that the offender took the time to retrieve it or had used a revolver.

While not definitive, any bullets retrieved during an autopsy may determine what calibre of weapon was used. However, autopsies took time, and Foley knew that the first twenty-four to forty-eight hours of any investigation more often than not proved to be crucial in regards to a quick resolution.

There was no shell casing.

Sam and Sarah stood together on the threshold of the rear door of the bank. Behind them, the forensics cop John Singh and his colleague waited patiently. Russell Foley had moved from the front service area, separated from the private staff area by a prefabricated floor to ceiling partition, and now stood outside the manager’s office at one end of the staff room. His back to the office doorway, he stared fixedly at the staff room in front of him.

In the middle of the room stood a table with four chairs neatly placed around it. Immediately next to the manager’s office, a bench top with sink, microwave oven and the makings for tea and coffee ran along the wall. On the opposite side of the room, another door led to a small interview room where the manager, or perhaps a member of his staff, might discuss the many varied opportunities offered by the bank to a potential investor.

Sarah inclined her head close to Sam. “What is he doing?” Sarah asked softly.

“Absorbing the ambience,” Sam answered.

Sarah leaned back and looked at Sam. “What?”

“Getting a feel for the crime scene,” Sam explained.

“Why?”

Sam shrugged. “I don’t know. He does it all the time.”

“Have you ever asked him why?”

“I did, once.”

“What did he say?”

Sam looked at Sarah. “He said he was ‘absorbing the ambience.’”

“That’s weird,” Sarah observed.

“You wanna tell him that?”

“No,” Sarah said adamantly. “You’re his friend; you tell him.”

“No, I’m not gonna tell him it’s weird.”

“Why not?”

“Because he’s my friend,” Sam said.

Sarah paused for a moment. “You know what?”

“What?” Sam asked.

“You’re weird, too,” Sarah declared.

“Do you still like me anyway?”

“Sure,” Sarah nodded. “I like weird.”

“Really?”

“Sure. Weird is okay.” Sarah shrugged.

“You wanna go back home, I’ll show you weird.”

Sarah slapped him playfully. “Behave yourself.”

Russell Foley looked across at Sam and Sarah. “What are you two whispering about?”

“Nothing,” Sam answered.

Foley beckoned. “Come in.”

Sam stepped into the staff room, followed by Sarah. Foley crossed the room and hugged Sarah.

“It’s lovely to see you, Sarah. Welcome to the team.”

“Thanks for the opportunity,” Sarah smiled.

Sam extended his arms.

“What?” Foley asked.

“I don’t get a hug?” Sam sounded miffed.

“Grow t**s, chop your weenie off and I might consider it,” Foley responded tartly.

Sam ignored the suggestion and looked around the room. “What have we got?”

Foley gestured to the front of the bank. “One dead bank teller, shot in the head at close range. Three traumatised staff members, including an injured bank manager.”

Sam moved to the front of the staff room and peeked into the front service area. “Head shot,” he observed.

“Yeah,” Foley said.

“How many offenders?” Sarah asked as she also glanced briefly into the front area.

“Looks like three,” Foley said. “At least two women… the witnesses never saw the offender out front. There may have been a fourth, outside in the service lane driving the getaway car. There were two here in this room.”

“Women?” Sam asked.

“Yeah, women,” Foley confirmed.

“Any descriptions?” Sam queried.

“Yeah. In here there was a clown and a witch.”

Sam furrowed his brow, considering the revelation. “A clown and a witch?”

“Face masks,” Foley explained.

“I figured as much,” Sam said. “I didn’t think for a moment that it was a real witch and a real clown.”

Foley ignored his friend’s sarcasm. “They wore coveralls and realistic face masks. All we’ve got is two women of average height and weight. That’s it.”

“And they were definitely women?” Sarah probed.

“The witnesses said both offenders spoke. They were women. No discernable accent.”

“What about the shooter?” Sam asked.

Foley shrugged. “No one saw the shooter,” he repeated. “Could have been male or female. The whole thing from start to finish took about five, maybe six minutes.”

“Did they get much?” Sam asked.

“We won’t know until the bank completes a full audit. The manager’s still in the care of the paramedics. He took a hit on the head with the butt of a shotgun. His ball-park guess is at least a million.”

“A million!” Sam exclaimed.

“Apparently this is the bank of choice for many of the big businesses in Alice Springs, including Lasseter’s Casino,” Foley explained. “The manager said it’s normal to have at least that much cash on hand on any given day. Also, it’s a long weekend. The Finke Desert Race is on and there are about ten thousand more people in town than there would normally be. The bank was cashed up to cater for all contingencies.”

“Sounds like a well-planned gig… in and out in five minutes, leaving one dead teller and a million bucks richer.”

“Well-planned and well-executed,” Foley agreed.

Sarah glanced around the room. “I don’t suppose they were careless enough to leave any evidence behind?”

“Haven’t found any yet,” Foley said. “The offenders in here, the clown and the witch, both wore surgical gloves. They took the CCTV tape from the manager’s office and carried a large sports bag that they filled with cash, notes only, from a safe in the strong room.”

Sam and Sarah stepped across to the strong room and looked inside. Sam turned back to Foley. “What time did all this happen?”

“Right on closing time,” Foley answered. “The manager hit the silent alarm in the front service area at eight minutes past five. According to the dispatcher in Communications, the first responders were here at 5.15 pm exactly. The offenders were gone.”

Sam looked at his watch. “It’s six-twenty now. They’ve got over an hour head start on us.”

“Road blocks?” Sarah asked.

Foley nodded. “I had the Watch Commander contact the chaps at Kulgera, down south, and Ti Tree up north. Road blocks at both sites should be in place now. I’ve ordered every vehicle, including trucks, to be stopped and searched. If the offenders are heading in either direction, they will not have reached the road blocks yet. Maybe we’ll get lucky.”

“This thing sounds like a very well-planned operation,” Sam said. “I expect the offenders will have considered the likelihood of road blocks.”

“There’s nowhere to go either east or west,” Sarah said. “Unless they take the desert route over rough four-wheel-drive-only tracks, they don’t have a lot of options other than north or south.”

“Or they could still be here,” Sam suggested.

“Here?” Sarah asked.

“Why not?” Sam said. “There are ten thousand extra people in town for the desert race. All they have to do is lay low in town for a few days and then leave when all the race visitors leave.”

“I tend to agree with Sam,” Foley said to Sarah. “Keep a low profile and don’t do anything to draw undue attention. Do the tourist thing and leave town next week.”

“What’s the plan?” Sam asked.

“The plan is to have John Singh go over this place with a fine-tooth comb. I want a Command Centre set up at headquarters, and I want to rattle a few cages, have our people lean on their informants. Somebody has to know something.”