‘And is it worth much? The comp?’
‘There’s always a different one going on. This one’s worth five hundred bucks.’
‘Shit, that’s all right.’
‘Nathan,’ said Jenny. She was spooning some fruit salad into a bowl. ‘I was wondering. Are you and Mandy busy Friday night?’
‘No. I don’t think so. Why’s that?’
‘He probably hasn’t mentioned it, but it’s a certain someone’s birthday. He turns the big two-four.’
‘Danny? Really? Mate, I thought you would have said something.’
‘Nah,’ said Arbor. ‘I hate birthdays. I always have.’
He hadn’t always hated birthdays. It was only since they reminded him of that other life, the life he might’ve had.
‘I thought,’ said Jenny. ‘I thought the two of you might want to come out for a little get-together. It’ll just be a few of us. We can always make up a bed for you if you need to stay the night.’
‘That sounds like a plan. But no thanks to the bed. I’m off the grog, so we’ll be able to get home. Who else is coming?’
‘I don’t know, yet,’ said Jenny, smiling. ‘I was thinking of maybe asking O’Reilly and those two Perth detectives.’
‘Don’t you dare.’ said Arbor, even though he knew it was a joke.
‘Amira, of course,’ said Jenny. ‘She’ll be here. What about you, Danny? Is there anyone in particular you want to invite? Any of the footy crowd?’
‘No. Not really,’ said Arbor. ‘I told you. I’m not big on birthdays. In fact, I’d just as soon not bother.’
‘Danny,’ said Jenny. ‘You can’t be like that.’
‘Well, then. What you said the first time,’ said Arbor. ‘Just keep it small, I reckon. Just Amira and Nathan and Mandy.’
‘I never get tired of it,’ said Arbor.
‘Never get tired of what?’ said Nathan, gazing out the side window. They were five minutes out from Jenny’s and five minutes out from town. The clouds had cleared again and the stars were shining.
‘The peace and quiet out this way,’ said Arbor. ‘And the sound of the road.’
‘Then you shouldn’t have opened your yapper,’ said Nathan.
They laughed.
‘Do you think I’m making the right move?’ asked Arbor. ‘Moving in with her?’
‘With Jen? It’s not really my say, is it, Danny?’ said Nathan. ‘Mind you, I don’t think you’ve much to lose, have you? Living by yourself in that crappy little shithole opposite our place. And besides, you spend most of your time with her, don’t you?’
‘Every minute I get.’
‘There you go, then. Problem solved.’
They fell into silence again for a moment, until Arbor could see the town lights.
‘Will Mandy still be at the pool comp?’ he asked. ‘Do you want me to drop you at the pub?’
‘No,’ said Nathan. ‘Drop me home. It’s still a bit too tempting, if you know what I mean.’
‘Okay, then,’ said Arbor. ‘What’s brought all this on? This sudden sobriety?’
‘It wasn’t just a spur of the moment thing,’ said Nathan. ‘I’ve been thinking about it for a while. And it ended up with a kind of agreement with Mandy.’
‘Yeah? And how does that work?’
‘I give up the grog and she … Do you remember that big Lotto win she had at New Year?’
‘Yeah, twenty-five grand or something, wasn’t it?’
‘Yeah, well, it’s gone. All in one day at the Ashby races.’
‘Fuck me.’
‘Yeah. And it gets worse. There was a time when her gambling took maybe fifty or a hundred bucks out of the kitty. We could afford that. But now it’s, like, two hundred bucks a week.’
‘Ouch. And how’s she going now? Has she managed to cut back again?’
Arbor had to wait for a response, as they turned into Palm Street and the hotel came into view.
‘I’m not sure,’ said Nathan. ‘I mean, this bloody pool comp cost her fifty bucks to enter.’
‘Can she win it?’
‘I’m not sure it matters, does it? If she wins it tonight, she’ll only lose it tomorrow.’
‘Yeah, all right,’ said Arbor.
They drove along Palm Street, the only vehicle within two hundred metres. The stars were distant now, hidden behind streetlights and the lights on the awnings of the buildings. The wagon splashed its way through glistening pools on the still wet tar.
‘Listen, I can make our excuses,’ said Nathan. ‘For Friday. If you really don’t want to celebrate. I mean, if you’re not …’
‘No, I don’t mind,’ said Arbor. ‘Not really.’
‘What’s the story, then?’ asked Nathan. ‘You really didn’t seem that keen.’
‘Whatever gave you that idea? No, it’s just … It’s just a permanent reminder, isn’t it? Four years ago this time, I was still playing footy. I was just breaking into the team. You know. I had it all in front of me.’
‘Yeah. I get you. That really sucks.’
‘Yeah, it does. But then, I can’t very well moan about it, can I? Who the hell needs a whinger? It seems to me, the way things are at the moment, I’ve got far bigger things to worry about.’
‘I guess you do.’
Burke had called Chatton the murder capital of the west. She had been joking, of course, but, in some way, she had been spot on. And Doc Phillips, too, had just about nailed it. He had remarked that Arbor himself seemed to have brought it all with him. What was it about him? Why was it that most cops on their first country postings got community barbecues and school assemblies, while all he seemed to get was a steady stream of homicides and a whole heap of attitude from his senior officers?
He parked the wagon so that the headlights and spotlight could illuminate the front of the house and then looked closely at the brickwork. He felt a little relief. From what he could see, Matt and Benjie had done a good job. No trace of paint remained. His only concern now was whether or not Amira would notice. Would she even bother to look? And there was always the concern, he supposed, that a nosey neighbour might feel it their civic duty to interfere and report the trouble to Amira as soon as she returned. So be it, he thought. Hopefully by then the girl would be beyond caring.
Tonight, he decided, he would use the carport and protect the paddy wagon from any more damage. But he found the door difficult to open. Salim, he remembered, had been a keen driver. But his car had been destroyed along with his life out at Melton Creek. And that had been months ago, months in which the carport had stood empty. Amira did not drive. She was yet to gain her licence. In time, insects had made their homes in the cracks and corners of the carport frame, and lines of rust had appeared around the lock and edges of the door.
He twisted the key tightly to the right and, with a strong pull, he had the door raised. It shrieked and squealed all the way. Nevertheless, it was up. He climbed into the wagon and, moving slowly forward, slid it into the carport. If there was an interior light, he couldn’t find it. He locked the wagon and, stepping outside, closed the carport door again. The sounds, this time, were quieter, but no less painful.
Another night in that chair, he thought. When might it end? Tonight? Tonight he might manage to lay on top of the bedding in Salim’s room. Or tonight he might make an arrest and return things to normal. Tonight. Anything was possible.
THURSDAY
At last, Arbor found a way to escape the clutches of Anna Burke. For a day, at least. He came in early and impressed O’Reilly by engaging with their mountain of outstanding paperwork. He was hard at it when Burke and Cole entered the station at nine o’clock. Thus, when Burke laid claim to his attendance at the butcher’s shop again, O’Reilly, for once, pulled the detective into line. Burke and Cole were free, he said, to comb through every piece of paper to be found in the butcher’s shop and residence. They could wipe their own arses with it if they wanted. But Arbor was staying put. Was it possible, Arbor wondered. Did th
e sergeant actually like him? Burke left in a huff, with Cole in tow. O’Reilly, too, made some effort to catch up on his paperwork and Arbor, using a stack of files to camouflage his actions, scribbled down a few ideas for the next Blue Tongues training session. But it was a slow and tiring day and by eleven he could feel his eyes closing.
‘Why don’t you go to lunch,’ said O’Reilly. ‘I can see you’re next to useless here.’
‘You don’t mind, Sarge?’ Arbor replied.
‘No. She’ll be right,’ said O’Reilly. ‘Here. Bring me back a curry or something if they’ve got one on.’
He took out his wallet and passed Arbor a twenty.
‘And stay off the grog,’ he continued. ‘You’re just about stuffed as it is. I don’t want to have to bring you a pillow when you get back.’
‘Yeah, all right, Sarge.’
Arbor was out the door. Heading to the pub. But he would follow O’Reilly’s instructions, and Nathan’s example, he decided. He would stay off the grog.
There was a Thai curry on offer. He decided the best way about it would be to order it for himself, in order to render himself O’Reilly-proof when he returned to the station. If it was shit, the sergeant would be sure to let him know. He waited at the bar for his meal to arrive, ordered an OJ, and then headed for his usual spot in the corner. It was the start of the lunchtime rush and there were a few other patrons, but there was no one he knew, and he found it necessary to say no more than a polite hello.
He enjoyed the meal and felt sure it would pass the test that O’Reilly’s taste buds gave it. He had just finished his drink and was about to order another when his phone rang. It was Mum.
‘Hi, Dearie,’ he said.
‘And enough of that,’ said Mum. ‘How are you, love? Can you talk?’
‘Yeah, I’m at lunch,’ said Arbor. ‘What’s up?’
‘Oh, nothing much. I … Well, there is, actually.’
‘What’s that?’
‘I’ve got a surprise for you.’
‘Yeah?’ said Arbor.
He didn’t like surprises. Especially from Mum.
‘Your dad and I,’ she said. ‘We’re coming up tomorrow. For your birthday.’
No. Dear God. No.
‘No, you are joking, aren’t you, Mum?’ said Arbor. ‘Mum …? Mum, it’s nearly three hundred Ks.’
‘That’s all right, Danny,’ said Mum. ‘We’ve driven distances before. And with a caravan. Your dad’s taking the day off, so we can make an early start. You’ll have room for us, won’t you? Or are we staying in the pub? I like a nice country pub.’
‘The Chatton’s not that nice, Mum,’ said Arbor. ‘I’m telling you. And it’ll be Friday night. It’ll be as loud as hell. And me, I’ve only got my single. Unless you and Dad want to sleep on that and I’ll sleep on the sofa. But it won’t be comfy.’
‘Don’t worry about it, love,’ said Mum. ‘If push comes to shove, we’ll stick the blow-up mattress in the boot. When do you finish?’
I’m finished already, he thought.
It was all about Jenny. It had taken him just a little too long to tell Mum about her. In fact, he was yet to tell her anything. From the start, he had always been a little too fearful that Mum would be put out by their age difference. And he had never told Jenny that he had never told Mum. A tangled web. Dangerous times ahead, Danny, he told himself. He mumbled something about finishing early and then hung up the phone. He reached into his pocket for some change and headed for the bar.
‘We’ve done it!’ said Burke, entering the station like it was a saloon.
‘Done what?’ said O’Reilly.
‘We’ve cracked the case,’ Burke continued. ‘Without even drawing overtime. That must be a first, eh, Cole?’
‘At least we’ll get expenses, Sarge,’ Cole grinned.
‘So, what’s the story?’ said O’Reilly. ‘What’s this amazing breakthrough you’ve made?’
Burke reached into her briefcase and pulled out a ledger. It was thick and old, the binding frayed and worn.
‘It seems your butcher did things the old-fashioned way,’ she said. ‘But look at this …’
She cleared a space in front of O’Reilly and opened the ledger. Arbor fell in behind Cole, looking over his shoulder.
‘By the looks of it,’ Burke said, ‘Paterson was in a bit of trouble. Financially. He’d overextended himself up to his armpits. Amongst all the papers back at the shop were rejection letters from all the banks. And all the credit unions, too. Even those easy-loan buggers wouldn’t touch him. Then we noticed this.’
She flipped back a few pages.
‘In January last year, he made a deposit of thirty grand. See? Out of the blue.’
She flicked further.
‘Then, every month since, he’s been making these payments. Repayments, I reckon. Fifteen hundred at a time.’
‘Where did the thirty grand come from?’ asked O’Reilly.
‘Wait a minute,’ said Burke. ‘I’m not finished. Then, last October, the repayments stopped. I reckon he was still owing the better part of twenty grand. And, as far as I can see, it seems he’s made no further effort to pay it back.’
‘No documentation?’ said O’Reilly.
‘No. None at all,’ said Burke. ‘So we’re thinking it was someone local.’
‘Yeah, but who?’
‘I’m coming to that. Here. Look. The initials in pencil on the side. SL …’
Burke stepped back and watched O’Reilly think.
‘Come on, Senior,’ she said. ‘There must be someone. There must be someone in town with the initials SL. Someone with money to burn.’
O’Reilly was drawing a blank.
‘The only person I can think of,’ he said, ‘is old Sophie Lloyd. She’s worth a few bob. But she’s in her eighties. She couldn’t … and she wouldn’t … hurt a fly.’
‘No one else?’
‘There’s …’
Arbor was surprised to hear himself speak.
‘There’s Rob Lawrence, Sarge,’ he continued.
‘Who’s that?’ said Burke. ‘It’s SL, Constable. Aren’t you listening?’
‘Yeah, I know,’ said Arbor. ‘But Rob Lawrence. He gets Snippy from his mates. Snippy Lawrence. SL.’
‘Yeah, all right. I’m interested,’ said Burke. ‘Tell me more … Senior, what can you tell us about him?’
‘Yeah, he’d have it in him,’ said O’Reilly. ‘He’s a nasty piece of work. He lives over on Carter Street. I’ve never seen him do a day’s work in his life, but he’s always got money to throw around. He likes to throw his weight around, too, if you get my drift. He and the few mates he has like to see themselves as the town heavies. Him, the Blair boys and a couple of others from out Ashby way. I’ve pulled them all in at different times for different things, but I’ve just never been able to make anything stick.’
‘Yeah, the Blair brothers,’ said Burke. ‘I remember them from our last visit. Tweedle Dum and Tweedle Dee. Thick as shit, the pair of them.’
‘Yeah, but easily led,’ said O’Reilly. ‘Lawrence likes to puff them up, make them think they’re Hitler’s generals or something.’
‘Nazis, are they?’
‘No. Just wannabes. But I reckon they might have it in them to—’
‘What do you think, Constable?’ said Burke, looking directly at Arbor.
For once, Arbor agreed with his sergeant.
‘Yeah, it’s possible, I guess,’ he said.
‘You guess?’ said Burke. ‘Right. Come on, Cole. Senior, where would we find this Snippy character this time of day?’
‘Where you always find him,’ said O’Reilly. ‘At home. But I wouldn’t be going just the two of you. I told you, he’s a mean bastard and, sure as hell, he’ll have a few mates with him. If you want to bring him in for questioning, then I suggest you take some back-up.’
‘The constable?’
‘I suggest we all go. He knows Arbor to talk to, I guess, but I’v
e known him since he nicked his first skateboard. If any of us can talk to him, I reckon it’ll be me.’
‘Giddy-up, then,’ said Burke. ‘Let’s get on our ponies and ride.’
If it were possible, thought Arbor, Carter Street was in even more disrepair than Royal. He could see several car wrecks, on their rims or missing panels and doors, sitting on the verges. And not a single occupant, it seemed, had made any effort to garden. Snippy Lawrence lived at number 36, at the far end.
‘Hey, Sarge,’ said Arbor. They were leading the way, the detectives just half a block behind them. ‘Isn’t that the Rodgers kid’s car?’
‘Yeah, it looks like it.’
Sure enough, Nobby Rodgers’ Monaro was parked in Snippy’s drive. Snippy and Rodgers were leaning against the vehicle chatting. Several others were sitting or standing near the house, drinking.
‘Your job,’ said O’Reilly, ‘is to get the kid out of here. In case there’s any trouble. Do you understand me?’
‘Yeah, sure, Sarge.’
Arbor pulled the paddy wagon to a halt. It attracted immediate interest. Snippy abandoned Nobby and joined his mates.
‘Safety in numbers,’ laughed O’Reilly as they alighted. ‘Gutless prick.’
But O’Reilly himself waited for the detectives to join him before making his own move.
Nobby was in a world of his own. Arbor approached him.
‘Hey, Nobby.’
‘Hi,’ said the boy.
‘What’s happening?’ said Arbor. ‘Not your usual crowd, is it?’
‘No.’
‘What’s going on?’
‘Not much.’
‘Listen, mate,’ said Arbor. ‘I reckon you’d better shoot through. We’ve got some business with Snippy. It might take a while.’
‘But we were in the middle of something.’
‘The middle of what?’
‘He was … He was going to help me,’ said Nobby. ‘I need to borrow some money. To get this thing fixed.’
‘And he said he’d help you, did he?’
‘No. Not yet.’
The boy avoided eye contact.
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