"There! Look!" I exclaimed, my attention suddenly captured by a car making a hasty exit from the bottle shop. The vehicle swerved sharply, coming perilously close to clipping a small, red hatchback parked at the side of the road. My heart raced at the near-miss, the thrill of a potential chase igniting within me.
"Shit! That was a close call," Karl breathed out, his eyes widening as he watched the scene unfold. The reckless manoeuvre by the driver was a glaring red flag, and both of us knew it.
"Random?" I asked, already knowing the answer but wanting to confirm with Karl. In situations like this, a random check could turn up anything from outstanding warrants to contraband.
"It would be irresponsible of us not to," Karl agreed, his face breaking into a wide grin that mirrored my excitement.
I grinned back at him, feeling a surge of adrenaline. "Here we go then," I said, the words laced with a bit too much glee. I reached for the controls and activated the red and blue flashing lights. The siren wailed briefly, piercing the air just long enough to signal the driver ahead that they had been spotted. I imagined the driver's reaction, no doubt begrudging and filled with annoyance, as they realised they were about to be pulled over.
Karl skilfully followed the silver Honda Civic, maintaining a safe distance as we trailed it. The driver, seemingly aware of our presence, eventually pulled over to the side of the main road that snaked through Glenorchy. Karl brought our unmarked police car to a smooth halt behind the Civic.
"You want to do the honours?" Karl asked, turning towards me with a knowing look. His voice carried a hint of amusement, as if he could sense my anticipation for this part of the job.
"Sure," I replied, my eagerness barely contained. There was something about these interactions, the unpredictability and the potential for discovery, that I found exhilarating.
"I'll do a plate check," Karl stated, already reaching for the laptop to run the vehicle's registration as I stepped out of the car.
As I approached the driver’s side of the Civic, the window slid down smoothly. I composed myself, trying to maintain a professional demeanour despite the rush of excitement coursing through me. This was the moment of truth, the point of contact where anything could happen. It might be a routine stop, or it could spiral into something more. Either way, I was ready.
The driver, unaware of what was coming, was about to face the consequences of their reckless driving. I had seen enough careless behaviour on the road to know that these moments mattered, that they were essential in maintaining order and safety. The thought that this driver was in for a significant fine, and deservedly so, was at the forefront of my mind as I prepared to speak with them.
"License please," I instructed, adopting my serious, police officer voice. Despite my professional demeanour, I couldn't completely hide my surprise at seeing a rather attractive, young woman sitting in the driver's seat. It wasn't what I had expected, and for a moment, it threw me off slightly.
I watched as she reached across to the passenger side, her movements fluid as she rummaged through a leather handbag that was tossed haphazardly in the footwell. There was a casual elegance about her, even in this slightly flustered state.
"Did I do something wrong?" the woman asked, her voice tinged with genuine confusion and a hint of innocence as she handed over her driver's license. She seemed to believe she hadn’t committed any infraction, which made my job a little more complicated. Was this genuine ignorance, or was she playing a role?
"Well, you almost hit a parked car back there when you turned out of the bottle shop," I explained, striving to keep my tone even and professional. I glanced down at the license she handed me. The photo matched the woman in front of me – Gladys Cramer, the name read. A good start, indeed.
As I held her license, a flicker of recognition sparked in my mind. Gladys Cramer... Why does that name sound familiar? I thought, racking my brain. There was something about it that resonated, a distant connection or a mention in passing that I couldn’t quite place.
"Have you had anything to drink this afternoon?" I asked Gladys.
"No," Gladys replied confidently. "That's why I was out getting these lovelies," she added, patting the brown paper bag resting on the passenger seat.
Oh, Jesus... I thought, suppressing the urge to roll my eyes at her casual attitude. Her response suggested she didn't grasp the gravity of the situation, or perhaps she was just playing it cool.
"Gladys Cramer," I said, as I prepared the small breathalyser. "I just need you to blow into this tube here until I tell you to stop, okay?" I instructed, holding the device out to her.
Gladys nodded, showing her willingness to comply. She placed her dark, plum-coloured lips around the end of the white, plastic tube protruding from the breathalyser. There was something about her manner, a certain nonchalance, that piqued my curiosity even further.
"Okay, now blow," I directed her.
Gladys took a deep breath and exhaled loudly into the breathalyser. I observed her closely, noting that she didn't seem concerned in the slightest about the possibility of being fined. Her confidence was either a sign of innocence or a well-practiced facade.
"Stop," I instructed sharply when the breathalyser beeped, signalling that it had collected a sufficient sample. The air was thick with anticipation as the device processed the results. I leaned in, studying the display closely. My head tilted in confusion as I re-read the results. Well, this can't be right, I thought.
"One moment please, Ms. Cramer," I said, stepping back slightly from the car, my mind racing with curiosity.
Disappointment was etched on my face as I walked over to Karl's window. The breathalyser result had thrown a curveball into what I had assumed would be a straightforward stop. "Well, that's a bit odd. She's recorded a zero blood-alcohol reading," I reported, the perplexity evident in my tone.
"She?" Karl asked, his surprise mirroring my own.
"Yeah," I confirmed, handing him Gladys Cramer's driver's license. My fingers brushed against his as I passed it to him, a small but familiar exchange in our routine.
Karl examined the license closely. "Gladys Cramer," he read aloud, his brow furrowing with thought. "I think we might have a little problem."
"What is it?" I leaned in closer to the car, my curiosity now fully piqued. Karl’s tone had shifted from surprise to something more serious.
"Is Gladys the only person in the car?" Karl inquired, looking past me towards the silver Honda Civic where Gladys sat.
"Yeah. Why?" I responded, a hint of impatience in my voice. I couldn't fathom where Karl was going with this line of questioning.
"This car belongs to Jamie Greyson," Karl revealed, and the significance of his words hit me like a ton of bricks.
"Shit!" The words burst out of me as I jerked back, narrowly avoiding a collision with the car door frame. My mind raced with the implications of Karl's revelation. The fact that this car belonged to Jamie Greyson transformed the situation from a simple traffic stop into a potentially vital lead. My heart pounded with the realisation that we might be on the brink of a significant breakthrough.
"Ok, what do you want me to do? Should I get my gun out?" I asked, instinctively reaching for my holster. The adrenaline was pumping, preparing me for any potential threat.
"No! Jesus, Sarah, what is it with you and your bloody gun?" Karl retorted sharply. "You wait here. I'll deal with her."
Reluctantly, I returned to my seat in the unmarked police car. I tapped the dashboard impatiently with the breathalyser, a physical manifestation of my frustration at being sidelined. I trusted Karl's judgment, but the detective in me wanted to be part of the action, to be in the thick of the investigation.
As I sat there, waiting for Karl to handle the situation with Gladys Cramer, a thousand scenarios played out in my head. Each one was a different version of how this could connect back to Jamie Greyson and our larger case. My gaze lingered on Karl as he approached Gladys's car, his movements calm and measured, a stark contrast to the turmoil of thoughts swirling inside me.
I took a deep breath, trying to temper my impatience. This was a crucial moment, and it was essential that we handled it correctly. The importance of teamwork, of trusting your partner, was never more evident than now. As Karl spoke with Gladys, I remained alert and ready to assist if needed, the wait both agonising and necessary.
"Well?" I couldn't help but press Karl for information as soon as he slid back into the driver's seat after his conversation with Gladys. My curiosity was like a fire, impossible to contain.
Karl, methodically taking his place behind the steering wheel and buckling his seatbelt, took his time before responding. There was a deliberate slowness to his movements, as if he was weighing his words.
"Well," he began, turning to face me with a grin that was both reassuring and slightly teasing. "It seems we are about to find Jamie Greyson."
"Where's the fun in that?!" I blurted out, my words a mix of genuine curiosity and a touch of disappointment. Of course, most of me hoped it was true for Jamie and Louise's sake – that we were close to resolving their situation. Yet, there was a small, admittedly selfish part of me that relished the thrill of the investigation, the chase. The possibility that it might be nearing its end was a bittersweet pill.
Karl started the engine, his expression turning more serious. "Not everything has to end with murder and crime," he reminded me, his voice carrying a tone of mild disapproval. It was a reminder that sounded like the kind of clichéd advice a schoolteacher might give, something about not following the crowd or the dangers of jumping to conclusions.
"I know, I know," I responded, feeling a twinge of complaint in my voice. I couldn't hide my eagerness for more action, more complexity. "But I haven't investigated a murder yet. I thought maybe this could be my first."
"Well, looks like you're about to become disappointed… Officer," Karl replied, his emphasis on the word 'Officer' driving home the point that my disappointment was somewhat misplaced given our profession. It was a gentle reprimand, reminding me that our job was ultimately about justice and resolution, not the thrill of the chase.
As we pulled away, I settled back into my seat. The prospect of finding Jamie Greyson and possibly concluding the investigation was a significant achievement, yet part of me couldn't help but feel a twinge of longing for the continued excitement and challenge of the hunt. This duality, the desire for both resolution and the thrill of the pursuit, was an inherent part of being a detective, a balance I was still learning to navigate.
We trailed closely behind Gladys, our unmarked police car making its way up the steep and winding Berriedale Road. From our vantage point, I kept a vigilant eye on her car. My gaze was sharp and focused, like a hawk surveying its prey, anticipating any slip-up. I didn’t have to wait long for something to happen.
"You've got to be kidding!" I exclaimed in disbelief. "Does it look like Gladys is texting to you?" We had received extensive training on recognising the tell-tale signs of such behaviour, even from a distance. It was a skill I prided myself on having nearly perfected.
Karl squinted as he observed Gladys's actions. "Yeah. It sure looks that way, doesn't it?" he concurred.
"Lights or just keep following?" I asked, weighing our options. We needed to act, but it was crucial to handle the situation appropriately.
"Shit! We'd better pull her over," Karl decided, as Gladys’s vehicle suddenly veered to the left, nearly scraping against the metal barrier lining the road. Her erratic driving was escalating, and we couldn’t risk letting it go unchecked.
I activated the red and blue flashing lights for the second time that day, my heart pounding with a mix of adrenaline and frustration. But to our astonishment, Gladys didn’t pull over. I watched, bewildered, as she continued her reckless behaviour, her car still swerving dangerously up the hill.
Deciding to escalate our response, I switched on the siren. The piercing sound cut through the air, finally capturing Gladys’s attention and forcing her to acknowledge our presence. Reluctantly, she pulled her car over to the side of the road. Karl expertly manoeuvred our vehicle to stop just behind her.
As we prepared to confront Gladys, my mind was a whirlwind of questions and theories. Her actions were not just irresponsible; they were dangerous.
Karl was just stepping out of the car when he suddenly turned back to me, his decision clear in his firm expression.
"You wait in the driver's seat," he instructed. My initial reaction was a flash of irritation, my eyes locking onto his with an intensity that could have melted steel. "Just in case she decides to do a runner," he added quickly.
My expression softened at the logic of his decision. Being in the driver's seat meant I was in the prime position to give chase should Gladys attempt to flee. A part of me, the same part that thrived on the adrenaline of the chase and the complexity of a murder investigation, almost wished for her to make a run for it. It would add another layer of excitement to the day's events.
As Karl spoke with Gladys, every second stretched out, feeling longer than the last. I found myself tapping my fingers anxiously on the steering wheel, the rhythmic drumming a poor distraction from my growing impatience. Eventually, I reverted to a childhood habit, forming makeshift binoculars with my hands, peering intently through the gap in an attempt to decipher their conversation. But it was futile; I couldn't make out anything Karl was saying.
What's taking him so long? The question gnawed at me, my curiosity and eagerness for action mounting with each passing moment. I sighed with frustration, the suspense almost unbearable, and fell back against the seat. The waiting game was always the hardest part of the job for me. I preferred being in the thick of it, directly involved, rather than on the sidelines, even if it was a strategic position.
Moments later, Karl walked briskly back to the car, his pace quick and purposeful. He slid into the passenger seat with a sense of urgency that immediately piqued my curiosity.
"Did you give her a ticket?" I asked, as he buckled himself in. My question was more than just idle curiosity; it was a need to understand the evolving situation.
"No, just drive," Karl instructed firmly.
Without asking any more questions, I started the car and began to follow Gladys. My mind was abuzz with questions, but I knew better than to press Karl when he was like this. There was a reason for his terse instructions, and I trusted his judgment.
We drove in silence until we arrived at Luke and Jamie's house. I parked the car across the street, my eyes fixed on Gladys as she pulled into the driveway. The house itself was a modern, split-level construction, its living quarters perched on the top of a hillside. Below, a second floor with glass double doors opened up into the yard. The architecture was impressive, blending style with the natural slope of the land.
From our vantage point, I watched Gladys as she exited her car and walked towards the house. The situation felt like it was teetering on the edge of a significant breakthrough, and my senses were heightened in anticipation. This house, seemingly peaceful and picturesque, might hold the answers we had been searching for.
Hesitant to leave the car, I looked to Karl, my mind buzzing with unasked questions and theories. I needed more clarity before moving forward, before stepping into a situation that seemed to be growing more complex by the minute.
"I don't think we're going to be meeting Jamie Greyson," Karl said, as if reading my mind. His words cut through the silence, dangling the promise of an explanation.
My head tilted, my gaze still fixed on him, seeking more.
"But with a bit of luck, we might be about to speak with Luke Smith," Karl explained, a grin spreading across his face. "He's cooking dinner for her."
His revelation took me by surprise, my eyes widening for the second time that day. Luke Smith? The pieces of the puzzle were beginning to shift, aligning themselves into a new picture that I hadn't anticipated.
"Come on," Karl said, his smile an invitation to action, a nudge to snap me out of my thoughts and into motion.
I took a deep breath, absorbing the implications of Karl's words. This was not the direction I had expected our investigation to take, but it was undeniably intriguing. Stepping out of the car, I felt a rush of excitement mixed with the weight of responsibility.
Gladys stood on the front porch, the brown bag of 'lovelies' securely tucked under one arm while she knocked on the door with her free hand. She turned, noticing our approach. Her expression was a mix of surprise and mild confusion.
"Well, that's a bit odd," Gladys commented, her voice calm but tinged with uncertainty. "There doesn't seem to be anybody home. I wasn't gone that long."
I couldn’t help but let out a loud huff of disappointment. No Jamie, and now, no Luke. Each step in this investigation seemed to lead to more questions than answers.
"But you have a key, don't you Gladys?" Karl interjected, his eyes fixed on the set of keys in Gladys' hand. He had quickly noticed they included those to Jamie's car, a detail that didn’t escape his sharp observation.
Gladys let out a nervous laugh. "Oh, yeah," she said, lifting the keys with a little jingle, as if realising their significance for the first time. "How silly of me."
I watched Gladys closely, analysing her every move and reaction. Despite the situation, her attention seemed disproportionately focused on the brown paper bag. Her nervous laugh, her distracted manner – something didn’t add up.
Is wine all you have in that paper bag of yours, Gladys? I questioned silently, my suspicion growing. My eyes narrowed as I contemplated the possible contents of the bag. Gladys' behaviour was puzzling, and I couldn’t shake the feeling that there was more to her, and this situation, than met the eye.
"Well, aren’t you going to invite us in?" Karl asked, breaking the tension that was building.
Gladys responded with a note of reluctance, her eyes narrowing as she glanced at Karl. "Wouldn't that be a bit rude of us to enter his house if he wasn't home?" Her voice carried a hint of desperation, as if she was grasping for reasons to keep us out.
Karl, unfazed, replied with a soft smile. "I'm pretty sure he wouldn't have given you his keys if he didn't want you being here." His tone was gentle, yet there was a firmness in it that suggested he wasn't going to back down.
I couldn't help but let out a short, quiet snort at Karl's astute observation. My hand flew to my mouth in an attempt to cover my faux pas. Karl had a knack for cutting through people's defences with his straightforward logic.
Gladys's glare shifted to me, her expression hardening. The fury in her eyes was evident, yet she seemed to recognise the futility of arguing. "I guess so," she conceded with a slight shrug, the resignation in her voice indicating she had run out of excuses.
I suppressed another snort, this one threatening to break free at the sight of Karl's subtle victory. His tactics, though not always orthodox, were effective in getting us inside.
My heart began to race as Gladys finally unlocked the door, resigning herself to letting us in. As the door opened, a million thoughts raced through my mind. Will we really find Luke Smith? Is this the pivotal moment of our investigation?
