Tuesday 2 October 2012
Detective Russ Seaborn, and Brian Hunt and Sue Lennard, the two detectives Seaborn had wrangled into working overtime, stealthily entered the Fairmont home, guns drawn. Missy, under orders from Seaborn, followed some distance behind the three of them. Seaborn sent Hunt and Lennard through the house to close off the other entrance, via the kitchen, to the formal lounge room. There was little chance that the intruder would be able to escape now.
Seaborn gave the two detectives an opportunity to block off the entrance before he rounded the corner, weapon levelled at approximately the chest height of the man.
‘FREEZE,’ he screamed, ‘GET DOWN ON YOUR KNEES AND PUT YOUR HANDS ON YOUR HEAD.’
The man, clearly petrified, did as he was instructed.
‘Who are you and what are you doing here?’ Seaborn demanded. Hunt and Lennard entered the room, Hunt in the lead, weapon holstered and handcuffs at the ready. The terrified intruder struggled to speak.
‘I live here. It’s my house. I’m William Fairmont. ID’s in my wallet in my right-hand back pocket. Where’s my wife?’
Missy charged into the room at the mention of his name.
‘Oh my God. William. What the hell are you doing here? You’re supposed to be in L.A.’
Seaborn and Lennard lowered their guns, and Hunt stood back looking just as confused as his colleagues.
‘The meetings finished early. I thought I’d surprise you and come back early. Thought we could head to Martha’s Vineyard for the weekend,’ he replied.
‘This is your husband?’ Seaborn asked Missy.
‘Yes, but believe me, I’m just as bewildered as you all are.’
* * * * *
It took a solid hour to explain the situation to William Fairmont. In that time, Missy had prepared a light dinner for the three detectives, William and herself, and had sent out for pizza for the officers on surveillance. When the takeaway arrived, Hunt covered the cost and took the pizzas out to the surveillance team. It was a good opportunity for Hunt to check in with the team, and to quickly discuss the change of routine for the night watch. No one had expected William Fairmont to arrive home three days early, and Seaborn had thought Missy’s stalker might change his plans when he discovered she was no longer alone.
After ensuring that Hunt and Lennard were clear about their roles, and checking in for a final time with the surveillance team, Russ Seaborn left the Fairmonts, promising to return early the next morning with breakfast. Missy and William retired to their room, and Lennard prepared to take first watch. Hunt settled into the guest room next to the master bedroom for a few hours sleep. He thought it was best to be in close proximity to Missy, just in case.
Seaborn, engrossed in contemplating the next day’s moves, failed to pay full attention to the car accelerating behind his until it was too late. Seaborn was thrust forward into the steering wheel when the car behind impacted his motor pool vehicle. Instinct made the detective grab at the steering wheel and attempt to correct the trajectory of the car, instead fatally overcorrecting. It violently veered off of the tarmac and slammed into a tree.
The aggressor, Missy’s mystery man stalker, parked his car a little ahead of Seaborn’s mess. He walked over to the police vehicle, opened the passenger’s side door and collected all of the papers and photos that spilled out of the file that the police had been compiling on him. A barely conscious Russ Seaborn groaned and fought to open his eyes. The last thing Seaborn saw was the pistol levelled at his head.
. . . To be continued . . .