by Ron Elliott
Charles said, ‘Yeah. I’d like to work with him. With a pair of plyers and an oxyacetylene kit.’
Pavlovic nodded.
Iris said, ‘You should talk to Silverberg about his conclusions.’
‘Yes,’ said Pavlovic, closed once more. His telephone beeped, he glanced at the screen. ‘Good. We’ve got your clothes for you, Mrs Foster, and some of your toiletries. There’s a shower and a cot adjoining the commissioner’s office which you can use tonight.’
‘Can I have my phone back?’
‘We haven’t exactly told anyone where you are. In spite of Chuck’s mates filling him in. We have also not released the names of those in the butterfly enclosure or if anyone was injured. They were running with a gas cylinder malfunction, but the cover story fizzled when the zoo started evacuating the animals.’
‘So I can’t have my phone?’
‘Who do you want to call?’
‘My husband. I think he can be trusted.’
Pavlovic pointed to the phone on the desk where he was sitting. ‘Dial nine to get an outside line. I’ll get a constable to show you up to the top floor. Chuck, how about we find a map to pin these crimes up. Mrs Foster, Iris, thanks for your help.’ Pavlovic had his hand out.
Iris shook it.
‘On ya, Doc,’ said Charles with a big wink. ‘With a bit of luck we’ll have him locked up by the time you get up in the morning.’
‘Don’t take any of their shit, Charles.’
He laughed as he followed Pavlovic out.
Iris went to the desk, lifted the phone. She supposed the line was being monitored. She supposed Pavlovic still didn’t quite trust her. Iris cleared her mind so she could remember Mathew’s mobile number without the aid of her mobile telephone’s memory.
It rang for some time. When Mathew finally answered, his voice sounded groggy. ‘Mathew Foster.’
‘It’s me.’
‘Good god, Iris. I’ve been sick with worry.’
‘I’m fine. A piece of metal caught my shoulder.’
‘I saw the news coverage. It must have just been after you called me.’
‘Yes.’ Iris couldn’t hear breathing in the background. ‘I can’t say a lot because they’re holding me for my own protection.’
‘It wasn’t an accident?’
‘It might even be the mad school bomber.’
Silence, as he processed the enormity, thought through the implications.
Iris said, ‘I wanted to warn you.’
‘Me?’
Ha. I want to warn you about June. She’s a bit flighty and she’s starting to really stack it onto her hips. I thought you liked skinny things. ‘As part of the investigation they are looking at possible terrorism.’
‘Yes.’
‘Some army intelligence officers felt I wasn’t cooperating so they tried to threaten me by threatening you. They made halfhearted threats regarding your seeking the bench.’
‘In what way? I can’t see any …’ He went silent again.
‘They were trying to see if I was implicated and sought pressure points.’
‘That’s ridiculous.’ He sounded certain, which made Iris’s heart jerk.
‘I think we’ve all moved on now.’
‘Do you need a lawyer?’
‘No. I’m working with them. And sorry, it’s all happening very quickly and now I’m consulting on this because it’s all blowing up around me. Ha. I know I promised I wouldn’t but …’
‘Yes.’
‘I hope you’ll forgive me.’
The barest pause. Nearly not one. ‘Of course.’
‘I wanted to let you know I’m all right.’
‘Thank god, darling.’
‘And to let you know about the army people.’
‘Can’t hurt me.’
‘I love you. I wish you were here with me.’
‘I’ll be back tomorrow. I’ll get the first flight I can.’
Say you love me. Say you love me, even if you don’t mean it.
‘I love you, darling,’ he said. ‘See you soon.’
‘Bye.’
Iris felt teary. She saw an older policewoman hovering in the doorway. The policewoman gave a sympathetic grimace. She followed the policewoman, wondering idly how they could misconstrue her conversation with Mathew, looking for terrorist codes in the marital ones.
In the lift the policewoman said, ‘You’re having a big week.’
‘Tell me about it.’
They went up, Iris feeling her tiredness grow incrementally with the passing floors, like extra gravity.
‘You probably don’t remember me. I did court duty when you testified on the warehouse arsonists. On the heritage warehouses.’
‘Oh, hi,’ said Iris. She didn’t recognise her. It had been years ago.
The doors opened to quieter hallways. Offices were closed, frosted-glass doors unlit from behind.
The policewoman led her past the dark-wooded door belonging to the commissioner’s suite to a smaller grey door beyond. Inside Iris found an ensuite, a small single bed with neat piles of Iris’s clothes on top.
‘Thank you,’ said Iris.
‘Hope you get this creep.’
‘Me too. Thanks.’ Iris gave her a warm smile.
She latched the door, explored the toilet bag they’d brought from her house. She supposed they’d conducted a search at the same time. Iris wondered about her laptop and whether it was with any of the investigative streams. She suddenly remembered thinking someone was in the house late on Saturday.
The shower was not very hot. Iris supposed the heating system must be a distance away. She washed the grit and the hospital smells. Her shoulder didn’t really hurt much. She supposed a clean cut, neat stitches. A small interesting scar.
She remembered the feel of James’s back, a flash of memory, followed by a hot flush of shame. Iris washed her face. If James was Zorro, he had completely taken her in. He might have been playing her from the beginning, even following Iris before the school. He must have, to know about the butterflies. He had tricked her, then was about to have intercourse with her. It would have been a multiple victory, using the Fire Lady sexually then to engineer his escape. He had attempted to dispose of her when he’d finished with her. Humiliate your enemies before killing them. Iris scrubbed herself roughly. She worked her hair, scratched at her scalp. Iris was not so clever. A puny, wrinkled old fool.
‘Well, fuck him,’ she said into the tepid water.
Iris rinsed off the soap, turned off the shower only to realise there were no towels. It made her laugh. It pleased her how the world could still be normal, the tiny things slipping through. She dried herself using the tracksuit pants and smock she’d been dressed in for most of the day. She could feel a cool slick of water still on her skin.
Zorro was overreaching, jumping things up exponentially with the school. He’d used a chemical that was beyond his control. Was he angry with her? Is that why he’d tried to kill her at the zoo? Was the triumph of making a fool of her so short-lived? Or had revealing his real identity through naming his children been another mistake, another piece of overconfidence, to be corrected? He’d failed at his target with the school. The firefighters would not have been enough. He’d failed at the zoo. Would his ego implode?
No. He had ether left. He’d do … the church. He’d rework his plan so the failure at the school became a feint that lured even more to the funeral. All those firefighters. Televised. How could an angry Zorro live up to his own image of himself, without trying for the church? As if he had planned the trap all along. As if destiny delivered the best option to him.
Chapter twenty
Iris poked her head out the door. The policewoman sat in a chair in the corridor, still guarding perhaps.
Iris said, ‘Can you contact Detective Stuart Pavlovic? Or Scanlon or Richards?’
‘What’s wrong?’
‘I think he’s going to try for the church.’
The policewoma
n opened an office, turning on the light. It could have been an office in any government department. It was not policey at all. She dialled on the landline. ‘Detective Pavlovic. Senior Constable Fergerson. It’s … um the Fire Lady. She thinks it’s the church.’ She handed the phone to Iris.
‘The church has been swept,’ said Pavlovic.
‘Lately?’
‘We have thought of this. Uniforms have been posted to watch the place. And Parliament, the zoo, every school in the state by the way.’
‘I think it’s the church service. I think he’ll make a try for it.’
‘We’ll check it out again.’
Iris turned to see Senior Constable Ferguson holding out the damp green smock towards her. Iris realised she was standing in nothing but her bra and panties. ‘Oh, I haven’t dressed yet.’
Iris returned to the anteroom, dressing for work not sleep. They’d brought her a dark skirt, a sombre blouse. She did her face quickly.
She walked past the policewoman who was back in her seat.
‘You’re not supposed to leave.’
‘Are you kidding? I want to see what they find.’
‘I haven’t any instructions.’
Iris stepped into the lift. She said, ‘Well, come on. Let’s get some. Where’s Pavlovic?’
The policewoman stepped in. She said, ‘He was in the taskforce office when I got him.’ She pressed the lift button, they descended. She said, ‘You will get me into trouble.’
‘The only place to be, Senior Constable. I don’t suppose there are any food dispensers on any of these floors?’
They found them in the room of detectives desks where Pavlovic had brought Iris earlier. Pavlovic and Charles were leaning towards a police radio scanner. Detective Scanlon and Minchin listened in at nearby desks.
Iris ate a muesli bar.
‘Can’t raise him. You?’
Another voice came through. ‘Constable Ryan, report your position please. Ryan.’
There was no response.
‘Who is Ryan?’ asked Iris.
Charles said, ‘Guard duty at the church.’
Pavlovic scowled his displeasure at Senior Constable Ferguson for bringing Iris but refocused on the radio.
‘We can’t get the lights.’
‘Clarify can’t get lights, Officer,’ said a voice of authority from on the radio line. It sounded like Superintendent Richards.
‘GC220, reporting. We’re in the front door of the church. We’re flicking the light switches. Nothing. Can’t see anyone.’
‘All right. Back out and return to your car, Constable.’
‘Ah, I can partly comply, sir. But, um, Dave, Constable Bradley has gone round the back.’
‘Get him out. Withdraw now. Both of you out and back, GC220. Wait for backup, do you understand?’
‘Sir.’ The officer must have kept his finger on his intercom because they could hear him yelling, ‘Dave, we have to get out of here. Dave!’ They heard an indistinct reply. The responding officer said, ‘Constable Duncan, report of an electrical van round the back sir. Are they fixing the power?’
Charles bawled at the scanner, ‘Do not touch the van. Do not touch the van.’
Scanlon pushed past them at a run.
Richards was already on it. He said, ‘Son, withdraw. The van could be booby trapped. Back out now.’
‘Withdrawing sir.’
Charles said, ‘See you at the church,’ as he pushed past Iris.
‘I don’t think that’s a good idea, Chuck,’ said Pavlovic.
‘I don’t work for you, Stewie. I work for Fire and Emergency and the police Arson Squad. I’m not going to spectate this.’
Iris said, ‘Let’s go. It’s five minutes from here.’
‘You stay here,’ ordered Pavlovic. He said to Minchin, ‘Chuck is right. We are better near the scene in case we have pertinent …’
‘No one is more pertinent than me. I gave you the church.’
‘Anybody could have done that. This could be a power failure, a cop helping to fix it.’
‘I can help. I know this man.’
‘Which still bothers me.’ He said to Ferguson. ‘Keep her here. If she tries anything, shoot her.’
‘I’m not armed.’
‘Use your initiative.’
He strode off with Minchin in tow.
Bradley had returned on the scanner. ‘Sir, we can hear sirens. Police and fire engines I think.’
‘All good son. Are your blues flashing on top?’
‘Roger sir.’
‘Good. Now the bomb squad are scrambling. Do you understand? No one is to enter the building before them. Do you understand? No matter how far they outrank you.’
Iris said, ‘I need to speak to Superintendent Richards.’
‘He’s a bit busy.’
‘Senior Constable, you don’t want to be the person who Superintendent Richards discovers prevented me from attending the scene. Let me see, whose orders were you following? Oh, a detective’s. If Superintendent Richards orders I stay, I’ll sit next to the radio … and knit.’
Iris picked up a phone from the desk, held it towards her. ‘Call Superintendent Richards’ assistant’s assistant. Tell him I need to go to the scene.’
Still she paused. She was good at following orders. She was not a sergeant so she might be content to follow everyone’s. She would not like to get into trouble.
Iris added, ‘You said you saw me in court. You know I’m one of the good guys.’
*
Ferguson drove her to the scene. Iris had argued with Richards too. Her only card was the potential negotiation with James, should it be him, should he be captured at the scene. Otherwise she would have to stand back as an observer, behind the perimeter. She’d still be listening on a radio, but one a lot closer to the potential bomb.
She said, ‘We girls should form our own squad. Like TRG, only for fires.’
‘I’m not stupid, Mrs Foster.’
‘What? What?’
‘Detective Pavlovic wanted you watched. Superintendent Richards said the same thing. I have booked out a firearm. Please don’t think I’m stupid.’
‘No. Nor friendly. Got it.’
Ferguson drove in silence through the city streets that rippled with a variety of police, fire and ambulance vehicles. Iris had to admit she probably could contribute little. She wanted to be there. She wanted to see if he’d really target the church. If she had that right, then she was starting to know Zorro.
The church stood at the top of the hill. When it had been built two hundred years before, it would have been the highest building in the fledgling colony. The city had encroached and bypassed if not quite overwhelmed. City towers jutted the skyline. The major hospital of the city loomed adjacent, taller. A Catholic girls school spread into once church-owned land. Yet it kept its majesty and grace. Roses and bench seats dotted the ample grass grounds behind the wrought-iron fence. Which was where the perimeter had been set, where police, fire, rescue, assorted squads were gathered like a besieging army.
They parked a couple of blocks back where a cordon of street closure bollards and temporary fencing was erected. The media vans were coming in but only one crew had set up. ‘Iris, Iris, is it the school bomber?’ Iris kept walking. Her chaperone tried to shield her from the approaching camera on the shoulder of a t-shirted part-timer. Even the usually immaculate journalist looked dishevelled. Iris thought it might be around two am on a Sunday night. ‘Is it true you were at the zoo?’ Iris kept walking. ‘Is this a serial bomber? Is the city under attack?’
Yes, thought Iris, heading up towards the packed cluster of vehicles winking blues, reds and orange lights up against the church walls. They found their way to the command post set up near the black van that usually ferried the bomb robot.
‘Hey Doc.’
Iris turned to see a firefighter waving. He was in full kit so she couldn’t see his face. She stopped, peered at his name tag. ‘McDonald. Is that yo
u, Jock, you old bastard?’
‘Can’t complain.’
‘Bullshit, you’re a great complainer.’
‘Only to effect the change, Doc.’
It was an old joke from years before. Another firey came up behind Jock, pointed at her.
Iris waved.
‘Let’s get this thing, hey?’ Jock said.
‘Pants on fire,’ said Iris. Another old joke. It had been uncool to say be safe.
Iris spun away, getting the flash of the station officer who’d died at the school. Only now he had a face, the face she’d seen in the newspaper, on the television. Now she knew he’d come from another city looking for the better family life for which the city had once been famous.
Two paramedics carried a stretcher from the church. Iris supposed it was the missing officer who’d been guarding the church. The paramedics trotted, a policeman in helmet and bulletproof vest running backwards behind them, covering their retreat with a rifle aimed everywhere at nothing. Arc lights were set around the perimeter giving the grass the glow of a sports ground. Long shadows made crazy shapes as the paramedics neared an ambulance at the gates. A uniform tried to clear rescue vehicles and police cars to give it a path out. The fire services would not have allowed such a logjam on the fire-ground.
Iris heard someone reporting to Scanlon who stood in a cluster of police. ‘He’s in a bad way. Head wound. Blunt trauma.’ Pavlovic turned, almost a silhouette against the arc lights.
Iris veered towards the bomb-squad cluster of men, where she noticed Charles Koch. A hand grabbed Iris, making her gasp at the sudden sharp pain in her shoulderblade.
Pavlovic.
‘Ow. My stitches.’
‘What are you doing here?’
‘Superintendent Richards countermanded your order.’ Iris couldn’t suppress her little triumph.
He glared at Ferguson, who confirmed the overrule.
When Iris started again towards Charles, Pavlovic pulled her back.
‘What is it with you?’
‘Search her,’ he said to the policewoman.
Some nearby officers glanced at them but most found more of interest elsewhere. The stretcher was loaded in the ambulance. A marked police car backed out of the way. Up at the church a bomb disposal officer in full protective suit came down the steps. He gave a thumbs down. Iris watched him standing alone on the church steps, clearly listening to instructions on his radio. Two of his colleagues had died a week earlier in similar circumstances.
