Cold Cuts

by Calder Garret

  His phone rang. It was still that embarrassing Eagles team song. He had meant to change it. Ever since he’d copped the moniker ‘Big Bird’. Thankfully, no one in Chatton had cottoned on.

  ‘Yep, Arbor.’

  It was Matt Todd.

  ‘Yeah, how’s it going, Toddy?’ Arbor continued. ‘What can I do for you?’

  ‘It’s just a courtesy call, Danny,’ said Todd. ‘I was talking with Karen this morning. At breakfast. We were wondering … I hate to put pressure on you, mate, but we’ve a big game next week. Against the Redbacks.’

  ‘Uh-huh,’ said Arbor. ‘Are they any good?’

  ‘Better than us,’ said Todd. ‘They made the Grand Final last year.’

  ‘But they lost?’

  ‘Yeah, they lost.’

  ‘So they’re beatable, eh?’ said Arbor. ‘Yeah, I’ll lend you a hand. I was going to give you a ring later, anyway. When’s your next session?’

  ‘Tomorrow night.’

  ‘Cool. I’ll join you then … Oh, hey, Toddy?’

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘There was something I wanted to ask. Butch. Butch Paterson. I don’t know much about him. Do you know if there was there a Mrs Butch? Some little woman tucked away somewhere?’

  ‘Not that I know about,’ said Todd. ‘As far as I know, he lived by himself in that little room above the shop for the whole time he lived here.’

  ‘Yeah, all right.’

  ‘Why’s that?’

  ‘No reason. I was just wondering. I’ll see you tomorrow.’

  ‘It’s a date.’

  ‘Yeah, a date my arse.’

  The road past Norman’s Hill was quiet and the traffic to and from Ashby non-existent. It gave Arbor a chance to relax. He found a nice spot just off the road, tuned into some regional radio and closed his eyes. He would hear any unexpected customers, he knew, from a mile away.

  Twenty minutes had passed before he opened his eyes again and the desire to stretch his legs got the better of him. He alighted and did a few full body stretches before leaning against the wagon to stretch his hamstrings. He yawned. The afternoon sun was soft on his back, like a blanket.

  Then, in the distance, from out Ashby way, came a hum. It was a vehicle, travelling at a fair clip. He reached into the cab for the radar gun.

  Thirty seconds went by before he saw the glint on the horizon, tiny at first but soon a defined shape. It was black, late-model, and travelling fast. He lifted the gun. 150. 140. 150. It was well over. He reached in, hit the lights and grabbed his cap. Best to look the part, he thought. He moved to the side of the road and began hailing the car.

  They were about three hundred metres away when he got the feeling. What was a black late-model sedan doing on this road, in this neck of the woods, at this time of day? It simply didn’t fit. He was used to farm vehicles and the souped-up beasts of the local lads. He had a strong desire to withdraw and let the vehicle pass. But it was too late. They were already slowing down. 100. 80. 60 metres. In a second, the gravel crunched and the side panel brushed his pants.

  ‘Well, if it isn’t?’ came a voice from inside the car. ‘Haven’t you got anything better to do than annoy the public?’

  ‘You were speeding,’ said Arbor. ‘And from that distance I couldn’t see who it was.’

  ‘Yeah, well. You’re a dickhead,’ said Detective Sergeant Anna Burke, alighting. ‘You’re just lucky I could do with a fag. How far from town are we?’

  ‘Ten … Fifteen minutes.’

  ‘Come on, Jack,’ said Burke. ‘Smoko.’

  Her passenger, Detective Constable Jack Cole, opened his door.

  ‘So, how’s things, Constable?’ asked Cole. ‘What’s been happening in Sleepy Hollow?’

  ‘Not much.’

  ‘But there’s been another murder, eh?’ said Burke. ‘Otherwise we wouldn’t be here, would we now?’

  ‘No, I guess not,’ said Arbor.

  ‘No, I guess not,’ said Burke.

  She smiled at Cole.

  ‘He’s a sharp one, this one,’ she continued. ‘Watch you don’t cut yourself.’

  They laughed. To Arbor, it was a reminder. It was their wit that cut, and they didn’t mind who felt it.

  He tried to follow orders and follow the detectives into town, but within minutes it was clear that the pricks had derived a punishment for him. For over six kilometres, the detectives’ Commodore, and subsequently Arbor’s paddy wagon, did not move a feather over forty. The crawl was infuriating. At first a tractor, and then some piece of earthmoving equipment, moved in behind them.

  Eventually, he had had enough. At this pace, it would take an hour to reach the station. Arbor put his foot down and, hitting lights and siren, flew past the Ds. He would make his excuses later, he thought, by inventing a sudden local call out. But his ploy didn’t work. The Commodore, too, accelerated and fell in behind him. They were nose to tail all the way into town.

  ‘You’re a fucking galah, Arbor,’ said Burke, alighting outside the station. ‘What are you?’

  At least she was using his name, he thought. In the entire duration of their previous visit, he had heard it only once.

  ‘Does your sergeant know how much of a peanut you are?’ she continued.

  ‘Hey, mistakes,’ said Arbor, locking the wagon. ‘Mistakes can happen. From that distance you could have been anyone.’

  ‘Yeah. But I wasn’t, was I?’

  She climbed the step and entered the station. Cole scurried in behind her. The door closed before Arbor could make a grab.

  Yeah, but you were speeding, he thought.

  ‘I’ll sort you out one day,’ he found himself saying out loud. But when and how exactly, he hadn’t a clue.

  O’Reilly was in the kitchen, making a sandwich. Burke and Cole made themselves at home at Arbor’s desk.

  ‘It looks like you’ve got the front counter again, laddie,’ said O’Reilly.

  ‘Yeah, it looks like it,’ said Arbor.

  He waited. Surely the detectives would start in on him again, making it clear to the sergeant exactly how much of a fuck up they considered him. But they didn’t. Instead, they joined O’Reilly in the kitchen. Cole filled the kettle. Burke dived into the fridge, pulling out a yoghurt.

  ‘Whose is this?’ she asked.

  ‘It’s not mine,’ said O’Reilly. ‘I don’t eat that shit.’

  Burke made a cursory gesture to Arbor, almost peaceable. Take it, he thought. It just wasn’t worth the aggravation. Burke flipped open the lid, grabbed a spoon and then sat down at the desk.

  ‘So what have we got, Senior?’ she asked O’Reilly. ‘Here in the murder capital of the west? We only got the barest of rundowns back in town.’

  ‘Butch,’ said O’Reilly. ‘Bill Paterson. The local butcher. A long-time resident. Yesterday morning, some kids were rummaging around in the bins at the back of his shop. They found what we think is the lower part of his left leg.’

  ‘Fuck … That’s lovely, isn’t it? Anything else?’

  ‘No more body parts, if that’s what you mean. Arbor here spent yesterday going through the rest of the bins. He didn’t find squat.’

  ‘I thought I could smell something.’

  ‘Oh, and there was something else,’ said O’Reilly. ‘The toes. All of the toes were missing.’

  ‘Shit. You really don’t have to go to Texas, do you?’

  She had said it. For a chainsaw massacre. It had already crossed Arbor’s mind.

  ‘I suppose we’d better have a look, then. Where’s the shop?’

  ‘At the other end of the street.’

  ‘And where did he live?’

  ‘There’s a small flat above the shop. It seemed to be enough for him.’

  ‘And the keys?’

  ‘This’ll get you in the back door,’ said O’Reilly, tossing Burke a key. ‘I found it yesterday under the mat.’

  ‘Magic.’ Burke tossed the spoon into the sink and the container into the bin.
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  ‘Come on,’ she said to Cole, who was just pouring his drink. ‘Constable Arbor. Lead the way.’

  Arbor glanced to his sergeant, hopeful for a reprieve, but O’Reilly ignored him.

  ‘Relax, Constable,’ said Burke. ‘It’ll give us a chance to renew our friendship.’

  That, thought Arbor, was just what he was afraid of.

  ‘You didn’t look in here yesterday?’ said Burke, as they entered the butcher’s kitchen. Although dated, the place looked clean and presentable to Arbor, just as it had in the day before’s briefest of examinations.

  ‘No,’ he said. ‘The sarge just gave it a quick squiz. But we were outside most of the day. Looking for body parts.’

  ‘Uh-huh. Nothing like doing half a job, is there? What’s that smell?’

  ‘Bleach, I think.’

  ‘It’s coming from in there,’ said Cole, gesturing.

  ‘That’s the back room of the shop,’ said Arbor. ‘Where Butch does … did most of his butchering.’

  ‘Fair enough,’ said Burke. ‘Cole, take the kit and check it out.’

  ‘Do I have to?’ said the junior detective. He had a face on him like one of those meerkats. ‘Can’t Buggerlugs here do it?’

  ‘No. I want it done proper,’ said Burke. ‘Arbor can help me upstairs … Come on, Constable. Lead the way.’

  The way she touched his elbow and pushed him up the stairs put the hairs on his neck on end, but Arbor did as commanded. With every step, the stairway seemed to grow narrower.

  ‘There’s just the bedroom and bathroom up here, by the look of it,’ he said.

  Burke looked around.

  ‘And so, Constable. What’s your instinct?’ she said. ‘What can you tell me? About the scene? What hits you at first glance?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Arbor.

  He looked for something.

  ‘Haven’t you learned anything from last time?’ said Burke.

  ‘How do you mean?’ said Arbor.

  ‘I mean,’ said Burke. ‘I remember you taking twenty minutes to study a bloody shoe. I hope your detection skills have improved since then. Come on. What can you see?’

  ‘The bed’s unmade, I guess,’ said Arbor.

  ‘Yeah, that’s a start,’ said Burke. ‘And what does that tell you? Come on, Constable. Earn your pay.’

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Arbor. ‘Downstairs looked neat and tidy. So I guess he was probably the type to make his bed.’

  ‘Well done,’ said Burke. ‘We’ll make a D out of you yet. And what does that mean?’

  ‘It means … he might have been disturbed during the night.’

  ‘Spot on,’ said Burke. She tossed the sheets and blankets in search for something she didn’t find. ‘From what I can see, he probably wore fluffy pyjamas as well. We can add them to our “To Find” list.’

  She sank into thought.

  ‘When was the last time he was seen alive?’ she said.

  ‘That would have been Saturday,’ said Arbor. ‘Saturday night. He was seen leaving the pub about nine.’

  ‘And was he with anyone? At the pub? Did he have any drinking chums?’

  ‘Not that we’ve found.’

  ‘Yeah, well. Fair enough. At least we know that. Time of death, if he is dead, was probably Saturday night, Sunday morning sometime. And not in here, by the look of it.’

  She stopped her searching and looked at Arbor.

  ‘What?’ he asked.

  She had a way of turning him inside out.

  ‘I suppose we should head down and see how Cole is getting on,’ she said. But she made no move towards the door. Instead, she made a rough attempt to straighten the bedding. Then she put one foot on the bed and leaned towards him. The top few buttons of her blouse spilled open. He got the feeling she was looking at him in all the wrong places.

  ‘So, Danny,’ she said. ‘How have things been here in Chatton? Have you missed me? I guess things must have been pretty dull without me around.’

  ‘Not really.’

  Here it comes, he thought. He had been waiting on it. He just hadn’t expected it so soon.

  ‘Look, I was thinking,’ she said. ‘I can’t see this investigation winding up anytime soon. How’s about you and me, we have some fun while I’m town.’

  Direct, if nothing else, he thought.

  ‘Yeah, I remember your idea of fun,’ he said.

  Last time, she had charmed the pants off him. Literally. And then left him in the lurch.

  ‘Besides, not ten minutes ago, you were chewing my arse off.’

  ‘Ah, that’s just me,’ said Burke. ‘Grow a pair, why don’t you? I’ve got to lay it on a bit. I get no respect otherwise. I can’t be all namby pamby, can I? Where would that get me?’

  ‘Anyway,’ Arbor continued. ‘I’ve got a girlfriend, now … sort of.’

  He cursed himself immediately. The qualifier would give her an opening. And, sure enough, her response was immediate.

  ‘Sort of, eh? You don’t sound convinced. Hey, look. I’m not begging you or anything. But … Look, anytime. No pressure. You know where I’ll be.’

  Now she headed for the door. For a moment, Arbor feared that she might close it.

  ‘Come on,’ she said. ‘I’ll come back later for a proper look. In the meantime, let’s see what Cole’s uncovered.’

  She lumbered down the stairs like a bear.

  ‘Cole!’ she cried. ‘What have you got for me?’

  ‘Not much,’ said Cole, as they entered the shop. ‘The place is spotless. There are a few traces of blood, but you’d expect that, wouldn’t you? And there’s not enough to determine if it’s human. At least not with the tools I’ve got.’

  ‘Is anything missing?’

  ‘Not so’s I can see.’

  ‘So what does that mean?’ asked Arbor. ‘Do we get a proper forensics team up from Perth?’

  ‘Yeah, and that’s likely,’ said Burke. ‘I don’t know if you’ve noticed, Constable, but police resources here in WA are stretched pretty thin. And Chatton is not exactly metro, is it? Quite frankly, you can be grateful you got us.’

  ‘Fair enough,’ said Arbor, but not meaning it. ‘So what do we do, then?’

  ‘We move on,’ said Burke. ‘Me and Cole will take a run to the doctor’s and have a butcher’s at this leg. Butcher’s. Get it?’

  The detectives laughed. Arbor remembered once again why he didn’t like them.

  ‘And you,’ Burke continued. ‘You can head back to the station, or out on patrol or wherever you like. Just leave the real police work to us.’

  Arbor blushed. He felt genuinely slighted. Upstairs, she had seemed willing to listen to him. Here, she was her cold hard self again. It was Cole’s presence, just the existence of some kind of audience, that seemed to matter. Never mind. Soft Burke or hard Burke. He would be wary of them both.

  Arbor strode down Palm Street towards the station, the Jones boys at his heels.

  ‘Hey, Danny. Is it true?’ said Jason.

  ‘Is what true?’ said Arbor. ‘Shouldn’t you guys be at school?’

  ‘We’re sick,’ said Drew. ‘Is it true? That you’re going to coach us?’

  ‘Yeah, I’ve been thinking about it,’ said Arbor.

  ‘Beauty,’ Drew continued. ‘Shane needs some help with his kicking.’

  ‘I’m sure he does,’ said Arbor. ‘The footy’s almost as big as he is. But I don’t know what you mean, Drew. It’ll be a few years yet before you guys are ready for the seniors.’

  ‘No. That’s not what we meant,’ said Drew.

  ‘What then?’ said Arbor. ‘Look, I haven’t got time, guys. I’m a bit pushed.’

  ‘Us. The Nippers. Someone told us you were gonna coach us.’

  ‘Yeah, and who told you that?’

  ‘I don’t know. Someone.’

  ‘Why would I do that, guys?’ said Arbor. ‘Look, boys. I’ve agreed to have a look at the Blue Tongues, the seniors, but that’s about that. An
yway, don’t you have a coach? I thought you’d already have someone.’

  ‘Yeah, we did,’ said Drew.

  ‘And who’s that?’

  ‘Old Butch Paterson.’

  Shit.

  The sound of smashing glass came from somewhere back behind him.

  ‘Fuck, someone’s stuffed up,’ said Drew.

  What the hell was that, thought Arbor. Had one of the detectives managed to walk themselves through Butch’s shopfront window? From where he stood, he couldn’t tell. He turned and retraced his steps.

  ‘I’ll speak to you later, boys. Don’t you go bothering people.’

  It wasn’t the butcher’s window that had smashed. It seemed as if the detectives had already departed. The gaping hole in Palm Street belonged to the newsagency. It was as if, in breaking, the storefront window had completely disintegrated. Arbor could see Amira standing inside the shop, alone and still. Thankfully, she seemed unhurt.

  ‘Are you all right, Amira?’ Arbor asked.

  ‘Yeah, I think so, Danny,’ said Amira. ‘Wow, I didn’t see that coming.’

  ‘What happened?’

  ‘That did,’ said Amira, pointing to the floor in front of her. Closer, Arbor could see a brick. Despite thoughts that perhaps he shouldn’t, he picked it up. Attached was a sheet of paper. A message. Straight out of an American action flick, he thought.

  ‘Do you want me to read this?’ he said.

  Amira nodded.

  ‘Yes, please.’

  Arbor opened the note. It was written in red marker, in a not too literate hand.

  ‘What does it say?’ said Amira.

  ‘I’m not sure I should—’ said Arbor.