The Betrayal (7 page)

Not that he’d expected to see her. This was only a bail hearing. A mere formality. A minor cog in the wheel of justice that had now overtaken his life.

The magistrate took his seat at the bench and brought his court to order. Declan sat and prayed for it to be over. A blur of brief arguments for and against his bail conditions were made by the men at the bar table. Declan tried hard to concentrate on what they were saying, but all he heard was the final slap of the gavel as the magistrate confirmed the terms and then rose and left the room, his black cloak swinging ominously behind him.

Roger White approached the dock, his face wreathed in a satisfied smile. “Unconditional bail, Declan. You’re free to go.”

“Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me yet, son. We have a long way to go. This is only the beginning. The court’s given the DPP one month to serve the Brief of Evidence. Until then, you’re to keep your head down and your nose clean. From what I’ve seen of the Statement of Facts tendered to the court just then, you’re in a bit of trouble.”

Declan glared up at him. “I didn’t do it.”

White held his gaze, his eyes assessing. After awhile, he nodded, seemingly satisfied with what he saw. “Your father speaks highly of you. So does your boss. But from what I’ve read, the evidence they have against you is strong.” His eyes narrowed. “Who could be doing this and why?”

Declan shook his head in despair. “I have no idea. I’ve wracked my brain for more than a week. I still come up blank.”

“You have to tell me everything. Unless we can come up with a reasonable alternative to how your username and password came to be used, I can offer you little hope.”

Desperation clawed at Declan’s gut. “Please, you have to believe me. I didn’t do it. I fucking didn’t do it.”

White eyeballed him again. “Then you’d fucking better come up with an explanation. And it’s not
me
you have to convince.”

* * *

Declan stared out of the tinted window of Clayton’s secondhand BMW, lost in thought. His brother had offered to drive him home and he was inordinately grateful for the thoughtful gesture. Apart from the fact he was without a mode of transport, he wasn’t in the frame of mind to cope with the noisy peak-hour traffic that crowded around them as everyday people left their everyday jobs and made their way home.

The events of the day continued to roll through his head like a terrible movie and his gut clenched tighter every time they replayed. He was almost numb with the shock and disbelief and he couldn’t shake the thought that there was a very real chance he could be convicted. He didn’t realize they’d arrived at their destination until Clayton turned to him and spoke.

“We’re here.”

Declan roused himself from his panicked thoughts and offered a grateful smile. It wobbled on his lips.

“Are you going to be all right, Dec? Do you want me to stay for a while?”

Declan shook his head. “No, but thanks, mate. You’ve done enough already. I appreciate it. Go home to Ellie and the kids. They need you, too.”

Clayton’s brow furrowed in concern. “Right now, it’s you I’m worried about.”

“I know and I’m grateful for it; but I’m fine. I’ll go inside and have a beer or two and try and forget this day ever happened. Tomorrow, I’ll start all over again and try yet again to work out who the hell is behind it all.”

A knock on Declan’s window startled them both. Declan turned and activated the button. The window slid down in silent sophistication, revealing Charlie. His expression was almost frantic.

Declan forced a smile. “Hey, Charlie. What are you doing here?”

“Christ, Dec! Where have you been? What the fuck is going on? Someone at work said you’d being arrested? I’ve been calling you for hours.”

“I had my phone switched off,” Declan said, turning away.

“Talk to me, mate. What’s going on?”

Declan heaved a sigh and opened the car door. With a nod of thanks to his brother, he closed the door behind him and stepped up onto the sidewalk.

Leading Charlie into his apartment, Declan threw himself down on his leather couch and closed his eyes. “It’s been a shit of a day, mate.”

Charlie came closer, his eyes full of concern. “What happened? Is it true? Were you arrested?”

Declan drew in a deep breath and eased it out between tight lips. “Yep, it’s true. Those assholes from IA ambushed me on my way in from the circuit. I was worn out and reeking with perspiration and they jumped me. Took me away in handcuffs.” He spread his hands to indicate the crumpled and sweat-stained jogging clothes he still wore. “They wouldn’t even let me change.”

Charlie shook his head, his eyes wide with disbelief. “Christ, I don’t believe it. I told that woman you hadn’t done it. I told her I knew you as well as anyone. I told her you’d never even looked like being a kiddie fiddler.”

Declan stared at him almost uncomprehendingly and then shook his head. “She talked to you, too? I guess I should thank you for the show of support,” he said wearily.

“Was she there? The IA bitch with the big tits? Was she there when they arrested you?”

Declan pushed aside a twinge of irritation and nodded grimly. “Oh yeah, she was here. Her and some other IA meathead I’d never seen before. He was the one who slapped the cuffs on.”

“Christ, you have to be kidding? They
cuffed
you?”

“Yep.”

Charlie paced the length of the open-plan living room, shaking his head and muttering his disbelief. Declan hoisted himself off the couch and headed toward the bar in the far corner of the living room. It faced the view of the lake.

The myriad of twinkling city lights illuminating the wide expanse of water normally served to calm him after a stressful day, but right now, nothing seemed to be able to penetrate the dull fog that had descended upon him since his arrest.

He pulled open the door of the bar fridge and tugged out a cold Crown lager. Flipping open the bottle top, he slugged half of the contents in one gulp.

“Do you want one?” he asked, indicating the bottle in his hand.

Charlie stopped his pacing and nodded. He walked over to the bar where Declan stood and leaned his elbows on the countertop.

“I’m sorry, mate. I’m sorry you had to go through all that.”

Declan tugged another beer out of the fridge and handed it to his friend. “It’s not your fault, mate.”

“Would it help if you talked about it?”

Declan’s lips twisted in derision. “Probably not. Talking’s not going to change anything.”

“Did they tell you how they found out? Who it was who pointed the finger at you?”

Declan shook his head and took another slug from his beer. “Nope, but that’s not going to stop me. It’s obvious whoever the bastard was that went to them is the one who has set me up.”

Charlie turned away and took a sip from his beer, peering through the wall of glass on the opposite side of the apartment and into the night beyond.

“We’ll get to the bottom of it, mate. I promise you.”

Declan walked around the bar and returned to his seat on the couch. “I’ve been told to stand down until it gets sorted out. My access to the station has been restricted.”

“But mine hasn’t.” Charlie turned around and looked at him, his face grim with determination. “I’ll find out who did this to you, mate. I swear it.”

CHAPTER 6

Charlie stared through the windscreen and into the darkness toward the Master’s mansion on No. 32 Boland Drive. It sat well back from the road and was bordered by a high sandstone fence. Through the double black wrought iron gates, he could see that the place was ablaze with lights, warm and welcoming in the cool spring night.

They beckoned him inside, but he knew better than to fall for their light-filled treachery. The Master had made it clear: Charlie was welcome to spend time with him at his office; his house was strictly out of bounds.

It was one of the reasons why Charlie found himself drawn to the building. Time after time, during the restless hours when sleep eluded him, or like tonight, when his thoughts lay uneasy on his mind, he’d find himself outside No. 32 Boland Drive.

Thoughts of Declan weighed heavily. It had been more than a month since the arrest. A month where he’d had to keep up the pretense of friendship with a mate he’d betrayed. He thought of what he’d done and what he still had to do and experienced a twinge of concern.

Had he done the right thing?
Declan had been nothing but friendly during the year they’d worked together. The two of them had enjoyed a lot of fun times, going to the football games, hanging out in bars, swapping shoptalk. But the problem was, Declan didn’t know. Declan didn’t know the truth. Only the Master knew and only the Master could truly make Charlie happy.

Familiar shame surged through him. He was in his thirties and he still hadn’t found the courage to be himself, to stand up for what he believed in, to be proud of the man he was.

His mother’s constant vitriolic criticism, which had started when he was a teenager, had set him back a lifetime. For years, he’d despaired of ever being brave enough to stand up to her and her narrow-minded prejudices. But then, he’d met the Master and his mother’s approval no longer seemed important.

The meeting had been pre-destined. A memo had arrived on Detective Superintendent Julian’s desk requesting the presence of Charles Stanford to assist in the implementation of a policy-related operation that was to be conducted from the Home Affairs Office. The memo was a little vague on details, but Charlie’s interest had been piqued. Being handpicked by the office responsible for his employment was an honor he refused to take lightly.

When he met the Master and discovered the man’s proclivities were peculiar to his own, he was buoyant with the possibilities. Here was the opportunity he’d been looking for: The chance to leave the dark shadow of his mother’s disgust and revulsion behind him forever and to become the man he wanted to be. At last, he could live his life the way he wanted.

Of course, it hadn’t quite worked out that way, but he hadn’t given up hope that the day would come when he could throw off his mantle of deceit and live openly the way he dreamed of.

He was smart enough to realize the Master could help him achieve his goal. When he was with the Master, anything was possible. He felt as strong and as brave and as determined as he needed to be to throw off the constraints he’d lived under for so many years—and to be proud of the real Charlie Stanford.

It was a shame his friendship with Declan had to be sacrificed, but it was a small price to pay. Besides, the Master needed Charlie. He needed him to help protect the Master against the very real danger Declan posed. The Master had told him all about it.

Being needed by the Master was the sweetest feeling in the world and Charlie cherished it like a child cherished a favorite toy. Nothing and no one would come between them.

He glanced at his watch. Its chrome-plated face was illuminated by a nearby street light. Registering the time, he sighed. It was late and he was rostered onto work in the morning.

Shooting a final, wistful glance at the Master’s mansion, he started the ignition of his car and eased out onto the street. As the distance between him and the Master widened, he couldn’t help but yearn for the day when he could be part of the Master’s life—in every way possible.

* * *

Chloe frowned at the words on her computer screen and then deleted the paragraph she’d just written. She had two days left to serve the Brief of Evidence on Agent Munro’s lawyer and there were parts of it that were still giving her a headache.

She’d requested the transcripts of the statements of the offender, the main witness and Gary Julian for inclusion in the brief, along with the CPU’s computer log records and timesheets. What was giving her grief was her summary of the offences.

Declan Munro didn’t fit the profile of a pedophile. It was as simple and as complex as that. Not that there was any magic formula, but this man was a pillar of society, well liked and respected by his family and his colleagues, including his boss. The statement he’d made to her and the demeanor with which he’d delivered it rang with truth and sincerity—and yet the evidence indicated otherwise.

Then there was the statement made by Agent Stanford. A man who described himself as a friend of the offender. A close friend, if she was to believe Stanford’s account. And why wouldn’t she believe it?

He’d come across as an honest officer and appeared genuinely horrified at the thought that his friend might be a pedophile. Chloe had run a check on Stanford and although his family background left a little bit to be desired and his colleagues were not quite as gushing in their praise, he was nevertheless considered a good agent and sported an unblemished record.

With a sigh of frustration, she sat back in her chair and rubbed at the ache in her neck. Which one of them was lying?

“What’s the matter, Chloe? You look like you can’t find the word to match the last clue to a five thousand-word crossword.”

Chloe summoned a tired smile and looked across at her work colleague. Jack Webber had been her partner and sounding block ever since she’d arrived in the somewhat stilted halls of the IA. Before he’d taken on the role of IA investigator, he’d had over twenty years of experience in the field. It was this kind of experience and his ability to read a situation with uncanny accuracy that Chloe had depended upon during her first few years in the job.

Being an investigator for IA was a difficult job and one that not a lot of agents were willing to do. But while Chloe found it incredibly stressful at times, especially when her gut instincts were in full argument with her head like they were now, she also found it enormously rewarding.

The majority of Federal agents were hard-working, honest people who took pride in keeping their country safe. Every now and then a rogue officer slipped through the ranks and put the whole organization in jeopardy. The media could rarely be found when the AFP got something right, but invariably turned up in force if things turned sour—particularly if the source of the problem came from within. Journalists salivated about breaking the story of a cop who’d turned bad.