The sound of the clock ticked rhythmically as I set about my work in deep concentration. Nothing else seemed to move as all my energy were honed on the jacket in front of me. A needle and thread can come in quite handy if you knew what to do with them. I had been lucky enough to find some yellow thread in my seldom-used sewing basket that I kept for pleasure activities just under the ironing board in the laundry. I didn’t sew all that much. It wasn’t one of my favourite past-times and I only ever did any sewing if either of our clothes needed mending.

So, here I was sitting on our couch in the lounge room with my black business jacket on my lap, armed with the needle and thread. I glanced up at the clock. It was nearly seven o’clock and Steve had earlier phoned to say he was going to be held up at the office for quite some time. Not that I minded. It was good to have some time to yourself to contemplate on the deeper meanings of life. In my case, it was to make use of my new tradename. In front of me on the coffee table lay the picture I had drawn in the office earlier that day. My mother had taught me some needlecraft when I was younger but this was the first time I had put my own drawing skills to embroidery. Stitching the actual scorpion wasn’t too hard but the old-fashion cursive took a little longer than I expected. Nevertheless, I completed it, feeling quite proud of my achievements.

The next morning, I wore my ‘new’ jacket to the office and was greeted by some impressive whistles. Suddenly the jacket had given my a new form of authority - one which I felt very smug in. It wasn’t something that had been planned but it somehow fell very comfortably in the whole scheme of things. Heading up to my office and sitting behind my desk, I ran through what I knew of our current case. There wasn’t very much, given that this was only Day 2 of our investigation. I still hadn’t quite figure what to do with Milosevic/Mayfield yet so I call a meeting with my investigators to discuss the case. I entered the room to find my five investigators sitting and standing in various positions.

‘Okay, as most of you probably already know, I received a call from a high-ranking agent with the Feds, Commander Bentley. Now, my information is that there is an international drug baron living here in Wallaby Bay and Commander Bentley has employed me to help them expose him.’

I walked across to the whiteboard where I had stuck a photograph of Milosevic and pointed to it.

‘This is the target. He’s known to the Feds as Sergei Milosevic. However, I managed to track him down yesterday using his car. I ran a check of his rego number with Janet and learnt Milosevic is going under the name of Patrick Mayfield, living in Auldana. All we need to do now is find out what is he has planned in terms of his next shipment and catch him out. Any suggestions?’

‘Have you been to his residence yet?’ was Jennifer Ashton’s question.

‘Not as yet. I’m heading there after this meeting to get some idea on his security systems, if he has any. Considering his status in the underworld, I’m assuming the residence will be fairly big so perhaps some sort of surveillance could be put in place.’

‘You have to convince him to let you into the premises first,’ Simon Carter said. ‘The only way you be able to have him under surveillance is if you know what the layout of his house looks like.’

‘If he’s as wealthy as we’re assuming he is,’ Erica Walters began, ‘Maybe he already has security in place.’

‘Good point,’ I agreed, already thinking of what sort of occupation I could pose as to inspect the type of security she already had.

‘What about bugging his Comm?’ Mario Penelli suggested.

‘You need a magistrate’s order for that,’ Skye supplied. ‘Hey, Ally. Why don’t you get Commander Bentley to get the order for us? He should have the authority to do so.’

‘Dunno,’ I replied. ‘If I gave him the info now, I don’t know how much he’ll let me investigate. But, I’ll try and bargain with him anyway. He knows Milosevic is smart enough not to incriminate himself so I’ll see how I go.’

No further suggestions were forthcoming so I thanked them for their assistance and dismissed them from the room. I began heading out myself when Skye stopped me. She quickly scanned me from head to toe before giving a small smile.

‘I see you took my advice,’ she replied.

‘What advice?’

‘The Scorpion,’ she answered, pointing to my logo. ‘If I remember correctly, I think you said you were going to think about it. Obviously, I made you see sense.’

‘Yes, well. I decided I finally needed some sort of tradename for security measures,’ I shrugged casually. ‘I guess you can say it’s similar to authors having pennames.’

‘Touche.’

There was silence for a few moments and she just stood there, still examining my artwork.

‘Was there anything else you wanted to discuss other than my tradename?’ I asked, heading back to my office with her following suite.

‘Oh, yes. Remember a coupla months ago I approached you about the possibility having a work partner?’

‘You did?’ I blinked.

‘Er, yeah,’ she smiled, rather sheepishly. ‘It was after the first meeting you had with Skinner and Harvey and you speculated about Poulos being involved.’

 I thought hard back to the meeting and suddenly realised she was right. How could I have forgotten it? Skye had offered her services as an investigative partner. Unfortunately, I had been deeply embroiled in an undercover operation at the time. Admittedly, it hadn’t been the best time to ask.

‘Yes, and if I remember correctly, I was running late,’ I reminded her.

‘Hey, you still had to battle peak hour traffic. Plus we had that driver who held up traffic even more when he forgot to turn on his hazard lights.’

We both grinned at the memory. The driver’s car engine had suddenly overheated and he had called the Royal Automobile Association but, in the moment of panic, he had also completely forgotten to turn on his hazard lights. As we were already running late, we had decided to use a police siren and light, kindly provided to us by my ex-boss, to get us through the heavy traffic.

‘Anyway,’ Skye resumed, remembering what she had been saying before, ‘Would you like a partner?’

I thought about her suggestion. Since she was the only other investigator in the team who had police experience, it didn’t hurt to have someone to bounce theories off. Besides, the investigations had just taken off and her presence wasn’t to warrant any life-threatening situations. My only concern was that in her previous career, she had specialised in surveillance and spent most of her time in the office rather out on patrol or as a detective. I approached her with this. She just shrugged.

‘I didn’t become a cop by not going through the Academy, y’know. Besides, I’d been on the beat for nearly fifteen years before transferring to Major Crime. I did reach the rank of Senior Sergeant.’

I relented but I made sure she understood where she stood.

‘Okay, but in the end, I decide on the way things will be dealt. Deal?’

‘Are you kidding? I saw the way you dealt with Harvey. I couldn’t have done it better myself,’ she grinned.

The eastern suburbs in Wallaby Bay were known for its scenic views and high property values. Many well-known doctors, lawyers and high earning breadwinners lived in this influential area. However, from where we were settled just east of the city parklands, we didn’t get to see these views until after we had driven past the Norwood Shopping Complex. As you’d expect from a suburban commercial area, the traffic was thick, especially during peak hour, and even stretched as far up as the roundabout near the Penfold wineries. I suppose the main reason for this was because there was a government high school some hundred metres before the wineries and school buses contributed to the heavy traffic. Once we were past the wineries, however, the traffic thinned out to a trickle and we were able to drive much more smoothly.

‘Phew!’ Skye exclaimed, once we had past a roaring semi-trailer on its way down the Parade. ‘I didn’t think we’d live through World War Three after that!’

I chuckled but said nothing. The wineries were at the foot of the beautiful Wombat Hill and I had to change into second gear for the car to cope with the steep climb. I knew from personal experience that the view of the city from the foot of the Hill were breathtaking. I myself lived in Stonyfell just a few hundred metres from the wineries and to stand on the balcony of our house facing west towards the city was quite a sight. While the view during the day wasn’t a great deal to sing and dance about, it was the night view that exhilarated me more than anything. The central business district’s electrical skyline transformed the city into a phenomenal scenic wonder. A view like this cost in the high hundred-thousand dollar mark. According to real estate figures, the closer you lived to the Wombat Hill, the higher the land value.

 When we reached close to Milosevic’s alleged residence, I parked on the street just opposite and we both admired the recently built two-storey house. The two-storey house itself was set inwards away from the main road and to enter the property, we would have to go up a steep driveway. Milosevic must have picked this particular house for its privacy and remoteness.

‘What do you reckon?’ Skye asked. ‘Not exactly your most welcoming of houses.’

‘That depends on your definition of ‘welcoming’,’ I told her. ‘I’d say it’s very welcoming considering the spectacle of the house from here. What do you say we’re a couple of lost tourists trying to find our way around beautiful Wallaby Bay?’

Skye grinned as we both got out of the car. She grabbed the street directory out of the glove box opened it and placed it on the roof of the car, pretending to study it for a moment. If Milosevic was looking out at us through a window, it would look more convincing if it looked as if we were lost. I went round to Skye’s side and did the same. We then looked around towards the house.

‘You ready?’ I asked her.

‘You betcha.’

We threw the street directory back into the car, walked up the steep driveway and headed towards the heavy oak front door. Pressing the doorbell, we waited and had a look around on the lookout for any signs of security systems. I caught a glimpse of a small white box mounted above the door with the words ‘Chubb’ printed neatly on the side. A few moments later, the front door open only slightly with a gold chain still attached. Milosevic’s half concealed face peered out.

‘Yes?’ he asked rather irritatingly, as if we had just interrupted an extremely important meeting.

We probably had, for all we knew.

‘Good morning,’ Skye greeted in a surprisingly convincing American accent. ‘We’re looking for the Penfold wineries but we seem to have gotten lost.’

‘I don’t suppose you could give us some directions, could you?’ I replied, surprised my own attempt at the foreign accent.

Milosevic looked past us for a moment then directed his attention back at us.

‘Well, your car’s facing the wrong way for starters,’ he replied with a strong Russian accent, clearly anxious to get rid of us. ‘Just follow the road. You can’t miss it.’

‘Thank you,’ Skye smiled in relief. ‘I can’t believe we missed it.’

‘Yeah,’ I supplied. ‘We must have driven straight past it.’

Milosevic just grunted and slammed the door in our faces. We turned around and headed straight back to the car. We didn’t say anything until I had started the engine and began driving off.

‘Chubb,’ I announced.

‘Chubb what?’ Skye asked curiously.

‘Did you notice the white box on top of the door? It had the word Chubb on it. Probably some visual device of something.’

Chubb Security was a well known security company based in Wallaby Bay.

‘Mmm, I know someone who works for them,’ my partner told me. ‘Joined them about a year ago. He might be able to help us. Who knows? Milosevic probably has the whole house scattered with those things.’