by Dave Warner
‘How did Max Coldwell strike you?’
‘Quiet, a bit out of his depth. Like, you know he’d be more at home in a youth hostel with an out-of-tune guitar, but nothing untoward. I can’t believe he would do Ingrid any harm. He seemed pretty into her.’ He repeated that he had every confidence the car was mechanically sound. ‘We’ve had two planes up checking inland, just in case, but we haven’t spotted anything.’
I’d exhausted my questions. He jerked his thumb at the Cessna. ‘You want to take a ride out to the camp? I’d be happy for the company.’
‘Can’t. Gotta get up to Sandfire. You have an airstrip or something?’
He smirked. ‘Don’t know if you’d quite call it that. We’ve compacted some dirt. It’s hard enough to land and take off.’
I was glad I had work offering me an excuse to avoid his offer. We told each other to take care.
‘Somebody knows this guy. His dealer, his fence, his girlfriend.’
Clement was addressing the squad – detectives and a smattering of uniforms who weren’t out on the job that minute. Finding the sprinting burglar had become personal. ‘Maybe he’s going to get smart and pull up stumps. Let’s get him before then.’ Even as he talked, he was experiencing the odd random flashback to Louise. It was as off-putting as it was exciting.
‘I think if he was a local, we’d have heard something.’ Mal Gross had the longest tenure of any of them and his contacts ran artesian deep.
‘Seems to know his way around though.’ Graeme Earle stroked his chin.
‘Maybe he’s like you, boss. Grew up here, went away, came back.’ It was Jo di Rivi. In Clement’s estimation she was the smartest of the uniforms. He thought she should try for detective.
‘Whoever he is, he’s not on our books or we’d know him. Not with that kind of speed.’
‘Told you he was fast,’ smirked Shepherd.
‘Graeme, I want you to join Josh on this. Shake down dealers, anybody who might buy the phones and cameras off him. Same with you guys.’ He was referring to the uniforms. ‘Mal, if this guy is local or was local at some point, guaranteed there’s a school teacher or coach who’ll remember. We might be looking for somebody recently returned.’
‘What was his haul from the motel?’ Manners the IT guy had just joined them.
Shepherd checked his notepad. ‘He did over six rooms. We got five wallets, three purses, two cameras, seven phones reported missing.’
‘Get me the numbers. I’ll try and trace them.’
Shepherd lifted a page from his file and handed it across.
‘How’s the pooch?’ asked Manners of di Rivi.
‘Not sure, the vet’s checking her out.’
It was the first Clement had heard of it. He felt an obligation with that dog. Not long after he’d arrived back in Broome the wild dog had attacked him. He thought he had it killed with a brick but it had survived and di Rivi had adopted it.
‘What’s up with the pooch?’
It had never been officially named but ‘the pooch’ was its generally accepted moniker.
‘I found a lump under its front leg.’
Clement hoped it would be okay. The dog was living proof of redemption. ‘I’m sure it will be fine. It’s a tough mutt to kill. Alright guys, get to it.’
Most of them split as they were told. Graeme Earle lingered and followed him to his office. ‘You were there? Two am?’
‘Yes.’
Earle allowed himself a grin. ‘Hope you did more than play Scrabble.’
Clement withheld any answer but allowed the hint of a smile. He entered his office, checked the clock. Not yet midday. Everything seemed to be going so slow today. Was it too soon to call Louise? Of course it was. He sat down at his desk and filled in paperwork. At 12.06 he picked up his mobile and dialled.
‘Brandon and Albertini.’
‘Is that Louise?’ She sounded a bit different.
‘No, this is Karla, her PA. She’s in court at the moment.’
‘Oh.’ It was a dumb thing to say but it was out before he could stop.
‘Would you like to leave a message?’
He hesitated. What kind of message could he leave? ‘No, that’s okay. I’ll call back.’
‘No problem.’
Too soon, he chided himself for not waiting. Now when he called back he’d either have to admit that he’d already called – too desperate – or lie. There was a knock on his door and Scott Risely stuck in his head.
‘You eat anything, right?’
For a moment he was lost. Then he remembered tonight was dinner at the Riselys’ house.
‘I’m not crazy on offal.’
‘Me either, you’ll be safe. Seven?’
‘Sure.’
That gave him an out for tonight at least, although he wasn’t sure if he wanted one.
Complications. He shrugged off the baggage of his personal life and made a few calls to his contacts around the East Kimberley to see if there was any sign of the Feister girl. Still nothing. What had been an annoying chore was beginning to grate. Okay, the area was enormous but, unless they were deliberately keeping away from prying eyes, they should have crossed somebody’s path by now. The potential they’d met with foul play was increasing. What a shit-storm that would bring. His mobile rang. He snatched for it hoping to see Louise’s number. It wasn’t.
‘Marilyn?’
‘You got a minute?’
There was a tone to her voice, fraught.
‘Sure. Phoebe okay?’
‘She’s fine. It’s me.’
‘What’s up?’
She was disturbing him. Marilyn never sounded anxious.
‘I’d rather see you. I’m across the road at the Honky Nut.’ She added swiftly, ‘I don’t want to interrupt you.’
‘It’s fine. I’m on my way.’
The café wasn’t literally across the road but close enough. He spied her immediately at one of the outside tables in a pale blue dress that set off her unblemished skin. She wore a straw hat yet made it stylish as only women of great beauty can. Marilyn possessed an elegance of line, symmetry in all her features, that made her almost a natural element of whatever setting she was in. Like a leaf on a tree, or the ripple of a wave. He couldn’t think of any other way of describing it. She was never an addition but part of the whole. With every second his concern was growing but – and he was trying to step around this truth – there was also some tiny bud of hope that the wedding plans had crashed and burned. Yet as soon as he allowed himself this illicit sensation, it was countered by the fear she might have cancer or some other terrible disease. He was not yet halfway across the road when her eyes met his. They could still make his breath skip. He joined her and pulled up a chair. She had ordered tea. The teapots here were a feature, with gum nuts, kookaburras in relief.
‘I ordered the pot. Would you like to share?’
‘I’m fine. Are you?’
She gazed at him then shook her head before looking up again, this time right into his eyes. They must have betrayed his fear.
‘I’m not sick or anything. It’s this wedding. I’m a mess.’
Had she and Brian fought? Had she come to her senses? Clement battled the urge to open that door.
‘Are we talking table settings? Main course?’
‘Don’t be disingenuous. Should I do it? It’s not too late. Everybody else is going to tell me what I want to hear.’ She massaged that. ‘What they want to hear.’
Clement couldn’t help thinking by ‘everyone’ she meant her mother, Geraldine.
She continued. ‘You’re biased, I know that, but you’re the only one who will tell me absolutely what you think: am I doing the right thing?’
Should he feel flattered or insulted? ‘You said yourself I’m biased.’
‘I think you can be objective, because you still care about me. I know that. We still love one another, in our way.’
Why did she have to say that? All this time denying …
/>
‘No, you shouldn’t marry him.’
It burst out spontaneously. She looked like she was going to snap back at him but took a deep breath and poured them both tea. For a moment there was no sound but the trickle of liquid on china.
‘Tell me why I shouldn’t. And saying because you love me is not a reason.’
‘It’s my reason.’
‘We’re not going to happen.’ She sat the teapot back down. ‘We don’t work. Love doesn’t have anything to do with it. You and me: it’s a pitched battle for control. It exhausts us both.’
‘Whereas Brian rolls over for you?’
She raised her eyebrows, sipped, bled out a single word. ‘Really?’ Like that was beneath him.
‘I don’t understand what you want from me.’ He wasn’t being obtuse.
‘And that has always been the problem.’
He would not be caught that easily. He resisted anger. ‘If you’re after somebody steady, a man who wants to make your life easy, will be faithful, will book the two of you into a little whitewashed stone cottage in Sicily and in the evening under a string of coloured globes eat the day’s fresh catch at a tiny restaurant where they drizzle the olive oil on home-baked bread, I guess Brian is the guy for you.’
‘You could have been a travel writer.’
‘Thing is you could do that anyway. You have the money.’
‘I don’t want to do that by myself. I want to share that piece of bread. So far you’re making it sound pretty tempting.’
‘But you’re not sure. Otherwise you wouldn’t have asked me.’
He recognised the hat now. It was Nick’s, her father’s.
‘And I’m still waiting to be convinced.’
‘There’s nothing wrong with Brian. He’s solid. But there are a thousand Brians out there and I think, personally, the one you marry should be that, The One. You want the man who lies beside you at night while you sleep and for him every breath is a coastline he patiently comes to know in every detail, every little rock pool, he’s immersed himself in.’ Encouraged that she seemed to be listening, he blundered on. ‘You don’t need a man who can peel a couple of hundred bucks for a Leonard Cohen ticket because he’s suddenly discovered him with his chums in the wine club; you want the guy who trawled the second-hand shops six years ago and picked up an unloved Songs of Love and Hate for two bucks because he understood why it was special. You want a man who knows why you think white doesn’t suit you when it does, and why Steve Martin is a great straight man, and when you make love with this guy you want to be flying over Mayan ruins, and feeling the spray from the Nile in Cleopatra’s barge, all at the same time. And you want a man who recognises you’re wearing your father’s old hat with a feather of a dove in the band that he placed there the day his grandchild was born, for luck. That’s why you shouldn’t go through with this.’
Clement did not know why he spoke these thoughts now when any other day he would have choked them in their crib. Whether it was he was beyond caring, or because he cared too much. Still she had said nothing; no gibes or comebacks, no mocking handclap even. Numb, he got up from his chair and quietly tucked it back in.
He did not look back when he walked away.
CHAPTER 15
It had been risky hitting the motel but it had worked. One haul had brought him as much as four or five individual scores, the weed and eccies an unexpected bonus. It was taking all his willpower to resist sampling but he knew, even as his windows of reason and sanity shrank, that he must. Mongoose would take them in lieu of payment. With the phones and camera and the other shit he’d scored in the morning, that would keep Mongoose off his back. Maybe he could get half the crystal he would normally ask for which would mean … shit, it was confusing … he retraced the thought, grabbed it like a goanna’s tail before it could get it into the scrub … yes, if he got half the crystal, he would actually be paying off a little of the debt. Then next time if he took even less crystal he could pay off a little more. He didn’t want to disappoint Mongoose. He saw what happened to Dana, and she was a chick. But, here was the thing, how long before the cops caught him? What he should do is get out of here but that was … shit, if he split Mongoose would hurt him real bad. But he’d have to catch him. Okay, he could never come back but so what? He’d miss Aunty but then he didn’t have many choices did he? So, he’d lay this stuff off on Mongoose, maybe take just a little crystal, lull him, then split. Yeah, that was a good plan.
He turned into Mongoose’s street and hit his brake pedal. There was a big guy standing on Mongoose’s porch talking to somebody inside. He was sure this was the same guy who had chased him. The fit fucker. He’d had to take to the roof. His gaze strayed to the car at the kerb. Yep, one them unmarked sedans. Shit. He turned quickly and pedalled back the way he had come, his brain a buzzing hive. Did they know who he was? Is that why they were there?
No, if they knew who he was they would go to Aunty’s place. Mongoose was a drug dealer, that’s why they were there. Might be nothing to do with him. He was lucky he hadn’t just rocked up though. He had everything on him. A new idea was forming in the small territory of his brain still working. Maybe the police were going to arrest Mongoose? And then Mongoose wouldn’t be able to punish him for not paying him back, would he? If he was going to split he may as well do it now. There had to be at least fifty pingers. He could trade those, smoke the weed. Didn’t matter really where he went, south, east, up north. He’d hitch a ride and go wherever.
‘Spoke to Mongoose Cole. He claims he had no idea what I was talking about.’
Josh Shepherd ate an apple as he delivered his news. Clement found this profoundly irritating. He hadn’t tried Louise again. The meeting with Marilyn had thrown him. He felt like a ball spinning in an uneven roulette wheel. One of Shepherd’s informants had suggested Mongoose was the new ice heavy in town. He’d not previously been on their radar.
‘How’d he get the name Mongoose?’
Shepherd took one final big bite and pitched the core into the wastepaper basket across the room. He spoke with his mouth full. ‘You’ll like this.’ He swallowed. ‘The previous go-to guy was Sammy “The Snake” Carlisle.’
Clement could see where this was going. ‘Cole got rid of Snake, hence Mongoose.’
‘You got it. Rumour is he took to him with a cricket bat. Snake fled back to Fitzroy Crossing.’
It showed how fast things moved in drug-land these days. Clement had assumed Snake was still one of the town’s three main dealers. Graeme Earle had already struck out with the others. That was not unexpected. The only way the dealers would cop to knowing the identity of Speedy Gonzales would be if the cops had leverage, which they did not.
Mal Gross strode in, looking pleased with himself. ‘Sidney Turner, nineteen. Spoke to Jammo from the Wanderers Hockey Club. Sidney’s from around Moore River. Went to school here for about three years from when he was fourteen. Jammo says he’s never seen anybody so quick. Kid stayed here with his great-aunt when his mum went off the rails. Quite a nice kid, did okay at school but then left to go live with his older brother. Jammo didn’t even know he was back but saw him running down the beach about a week ago. Said something had changed. Kid still looked fit but his wiring wasn’t quite right.’
Clement was already gathering his sunglasses. He didn’t have to ask Gross for the contact details, the sergeant was a step ahead.
‘Olive Pickering, eight McMillan.’
‘Text Graeme to meet us there. Is di Rivi still around?’ Clement wanted at least four of them.
‘Think she’s at the vet’s,’ said Shepherd.
‘I’ll grab her. You meet me there. Park up the street.’
Shepherd went immediately.
Clement picked up his own keys. ‘Mal, get a description out.’
Gross gave a thumbs up.
Of course Clement should have got Shepherd to pick up Jo di Rivi but that damn dog was worrying him. He retrieved his car and drove the three minutes to the
vet, which was located in a newish short strip between a cake shop and dive hire place. There were no spaces out front so he drove around the block, down the back lane. He was lucky, a glazier’s van was just pulling out and he was able to park in the one free staff bay. Yes, he knew he shouldn’t, but he wasn’t going to be long. He got out of the car and walked back around to the front of the building. The day passed as mild for up here. Probably not yet thirty and a breeze was trickling down the street. A lump could mean anything: cancer, a cyst, an infection. He pushed into the vet’s waiting room. Despite a standard fan in the back corner and one on the desk, it was considerably warmer in here than outside and stuffy with the thick odour of dog. Di Rivi was nowhere in sight, nor was anybody else for that matter. He should have called first but he wanted to come in the flesh, maybe catch a glimpse of the pooch. He was about to press the desk buzzer when the door behind the counter swung open and di Rivi emerged with the guy he guessed was the vet, fair hair receding, a short white coat smeared with hair and a little blood. They were in mid-conversation but di Rivi was surprised to see Clement and stopped.
‘We’ve got a break on Speedy Gonzales,’ he said, aware he was shading the real reason he was standing there. ‘You can come with me.’
‘Sure. Thanks, Robert.’
‘We’ll know more after the biopsy.’
Clement said, ‘How is she?’
The vet took it on himself. ‘We excised the lump. It looks suspicious but it was very contained.’
‘Pooch is fine. She’s sleeping,’ added the policewoman.
Clement’s phone rang. Earle. ‘Yes, mate?’
‘Eight or eighteen? I can’t read the bloody screen properly in this light.’
And you might need glasses, thought Clement. ‘Eight, McMillan.’
‘I’m at the top of Orr.’
‘Shep will be there in a minute. I’m bringing di Rivi.’
‘How’s the pooch?’
‘We’ll know more later.’
