Her desk was even more of a mess than usual. It looked like Izzy had been playing here again despite its out-of-bounds zoning. While she waited for her computer to boot up she attempted to create some order in the chaos, sliding Lego pieces into their box, picking up scattered crayons and textas. At least Izzy had had the foresight to protect the desk with a newspaper, Stevie thought, until she saw the page it was open at—the personal columns. Various lurid pleas and advertisements had been singled out and decorated with rainbow borders, love hearts and stars. Shit. She could only hope Izzy hadn’t been able to read any of it. Imagine if she’d planned on taking this artwork to school for show and tell?
2 hot chicks wet and waiting
Buxom blonde eager for your call...
Asian babes for all tastes
She snatched the paper from her desk and crushed it into a tight ball. Christ, she thought, I’m officer in charge of the cyber predator team and I can’t even keep this junk out of my own home, away from my own daughter. Although this wasn’t quite what she dealt with at work, the core elements were still the same, it was all a question of exploitation. Sometimes she wondered what chance in hell they had in stemming this flood.
She looked at the picture of Izzy on the mantelpiece. It was her first day at school, her school dress stiff and new. The wide, gap-toothed smile seemed to say, look at me, I’m about to take over the world. Like her dad before his health scare, she thought she was ten feet tall and bullet-proof. Stevie saw a row of little faces in the photo album of her mind, exploited little boys and girls she’d come across during the course of her career, many who would have once been like Izzy. Her mind went to the abandoned Pavel baby—God, how could she protect them all?
She took a swig of beer and tried to calm down. The day had left her overwrought. Things weren’t all doom and gloom, she tried to console herself; her team in the cyber predator unit had proved that the system could work.
She scrolled through her mail and found the memo telling her what time she was expected in court tomorrow. It looked like it was to be an all day session, which meant nearly ten hours of skirt-suit and heels. Shit.
Luke Fowler’s face filled the TV screen in their bedroom, pleading to the public for information regarding the whereabouts of Delia and Jon Pavel. The woman at the deli thought they sounded Russian: close—the newsreader said they were Romanian. Photos of the couple were broadcast along with their car rego and a picture of a green Jaguar similar to the one missing from their garage.
Earlier, between bites of lasagne—Monty had been right, it was one of the best she’d ever tasted—Stevie had recounted the details of her afternoon, including her brief imprisonment in the upstairs bedroom.
‘Good old Blinky Bill, coming to the rescue,’ Monty said again, killing the TV with the remote and plunging them into darkness.
She wriggled further into the covers; the nights were still chilly despite the warmer days. ‘Yeah, well he may have got me out of there, but he didn’t do anything to help when I had the blow-up with Fowler.’
‘How could he? You were blatantly out of line.’
Stevie snorted. ‘I thought you at least would support me. Fowler seems to think he can get me sacked for tampering with a crime scene.’
‘Bullshit, it’ll just get brushed under the carpet. You’re the hero of the hour, the flavour of the month, walking on bloody water in fact.’
Ice clinked as he drained the last of his whisky then thunked the empty glass upon his bedside table—more than a little drunk, she suspected. He shouldn’t have been drinking so close to his operation, but she couldn’t chastise him now, not when he was saying things she needed to hear. ‘There’s not much you can do wrong at the moment,’ he went on. ‘Milk it while you can, it won’t last.’ He said it with no bitterness, despite the uncertain direction of his own career.
She snuggled into his back. He was a large man who carried his weight well. She had always thought he was fit too, despite the cigarettes. Until the onset of angina last year, he had jogged along the beach most mornings. It was hard to reconcile this outwardly fit body with its inner frailties.
‘I managed to get a bit more from Trotman when Fowler finally climbed back under his rock,’ she said. ‘According to the people in the street, neither of the Pavels has been seen for four days.’
‘The baby can’t have survived alone for four days.’
‘I know that. But the date corresponds to when Jon Pavel was last seen at work and Delia was seen at the supermarket. It doesn’t necessarily mean that was when they last tended to the baby, though going by the state of him I’d say he’d been on his own for some time. ’
‘What does Jon Pavel do?’
‘Businessman.’
Monty grunted. ‘That covers a multitude of sins.’
‘Runs a couple of restaurants in West Perth and a nightclub in Fremantle.’
The phone by their bed rang. Monty swore. Stevie groped for the light and leaned over him to answer it.
With no preamble, Skye gave her a rundown on baby Pavel’s condition. She said he was improving and the doctors were cautiously optimistic he’d get through the physical ordeal with no lingering ill effects. ‘But what about his mental condition?’ Skye said with a hitch in her voice. ‘That’s what I want to know. Can you imagine the psychological effect this will have on him? I mean, the poor kid was obviously adopted in the first place, so who knows what hell he’s already been through?’
Stevie sat up in bed. ‘Adopted? Who told you that?’
‘I don’t need to be told, it’s obvious. I noticed it straight off, didn’t you? The kid’s Asian.’
Stevie paused and thought back to their discovery. Yes, come to think of it, she had noticed Asian features under the dirt and grime. But as she hadn’t known anything about the child’s parents at the time, she hadn’t given the matter much thought. The penny should have dropped when the deli woman mentioned that the parents were eastern European. She chided herself—she was usually more on the ball than this. Just as well this wasn’t her case, that her leave was almost due. Monty, the cyber-predator case, the house; the stressors were adding up. She was more tired than she’d thought.
With her hand over the receiver, she told Monty Skye’s news. He lay on his back with his hands under his head and stared at the ceiling, his face mirroring her own perplexed look.
Stevie listened to Skye a while longer and tried to reassure her that everything was being done to locate the baby’s parents. ‘She’s not handling this very well,’ she said to Monty when she finally extracted herself from the phone. ‘This baby business has really upset her, she’s a sensitive soul.’
Monty turned and raised an eyebrow as if to say: and you’re not?
‘At least I can detach,’ she said, flipping the light off again. Despite almost half an hour under the hot shower, she could still detect the sour odour of the baby on her skin. In some ways, she reflected, its associations made it worse than the scent of decay.
Monty said, ‘You’ve always said Skye was a bit, what was it, unbalanced?’
‘No, not unbalanced, just highly strung and with a keen sense of moral justice.’
‘Sounds like someone else I know.’
She didn’t rise to the bait. ‘I get the feeling Luke Fowler and Skye know each other. She certainly doesn’t seem to have much faith in his abilities. There’s some history there, I’m sure of it. He strikes me as a bully—he’d better not be giving her a hard time over this.’
‘I’ve come across him once or twice; did a course with him in Adelaide. He seemed okay to me.’
‘He might be okay to prop up a bar with after a day of lectures, but you’ve never had to actually work with him.’
‘True. He must have seriously pissed off someone to land Peppy Grove. Never mind, if it does turn out there’s a homicide behind this case, it might end up on my desk at SCS, which means Peppy Grove can be ousted.’
‘You’re not on active duty,�
� she reminded him.
‘But at least I’ll be able to find out what’s going on and you won’t have to rely on gathering information by devious means.’
The conversation faded; they lay in silence. He rolled over and she spooned into his solid back once more. His pragmatism, though sometimes an irritant, was a comfort tonight. She wondered again why it had taken her so long to agree to set up house with him, wondered how she’d ever thought she could do without him.
But then her thoughts drifted to the negative, the dialogue in her mind of ‘what ifs’ that refused to shut down. Monty’s upcoming heart procedure was a dangerous operation. The blockage was in the left anterior descending artery, the one the doctors called ‘the widow maker’. What if the operation was a failure? He could become an invalid or die under the anaesthetic; which was something he’d probably prefer, she contemplated morbidly. And they weren’t married, even though they were engaged and they lived together—would she still qualify as a widow? She wondered if she’d ever be able to revert back to the old Stevie, the one who didn’t need him or any other man in her life. The thought of being without Monty grabbed hold of her and shook her like a pitbull.
His muscles began to relax, his breathing to deepen. She breathed with him. Images of neglected babies, lonely old women, letters of dismissal and flatlining heart monitors faded. Finally she began to drift off.
Then Monty started awake with a sharp intake of breath. ‘Stevie, I’m so scared,’ he said. (Image 5.1)
Imgae 5.1
WEDNESDAY: CHAPTER SIX
Like any member of the public, Stevie followed the Pavel case through newspaper articles and the TV news, bolstered by the occasional reports from Skye on the baby’s condition. After an official complaint from Fowler, Inspector Veitch—her boss at Sex Crimes—told her in no uncertain terms to lay off, and, as Monty had predicted, disciplinary action was taken no further. As Stevie’s own cases and the courtroom finale were dominating her every working hour, she backed down with little reluctance.
A couple of days had passed since their disturbing discovery and Skye’s calls became less frequent. But then Stevie received a call from Skye just as court was adjourning for lunch. The impeccable timing was soon explained by Skye’s appearance in the anteroom, phone still clamped to her ear, resplendent in full body armour: nose stud, eyebrow ring and multiple ear piercings.
Well prepared for battle, she would not take Stevie’s no for an answer. ‘Skye, I can’t, I’ve been warned off.’
‘C’mon, girlfriend, I’ll buy you lunch,’ Skye said, linking her arm through Stevie’s.
Stevie cringed at the loudness of her friend’s voice amongst the muffled whisperings of those leaving the court. ‘Skye, what the hell are you doing here?’ she shot back in a stage whisper.
‘Like I just said, I want to buy you lunch.’
‘I don’t have time for lunch. I have to go back to Central and grab some notes in time for the next session.’
‘You so do have time for lunch. I asked one of the bailiffs while I was waiting and he said you have an hour and a half. Are cops sub-human, don’t they need to eat? I have my Vespa—I can scoot you over to Central for your notes after we’ve had a snack and a talk.’
When Stevie continued to make noises of protest, Skye lowered her voice. ‘I’ve just come back from the hospital, went to see the kid. There’s still no sign of his parents and the police haven’t been able to trace any relatives. The ward social worker says at this rate he’ll have to be fostered out when he’s discharged. There’s some other stuff too, stuff we need to talk about in private.’ The way her eyes slid toward a group of bewigged lawyers waiting for the lifts, suggested something furtive.
Soon Stevie would be commencing three weeks of leave and she had more than enough to do than get involved in a case she’d been warned to step away from. This was to be an important family time for them. Monty needed her; Izzy needed her even more. She would be the perfect mother: school runs, excursions, sitting through assemblies, helping with reading classes...
When she didn’t get the desired response, Skye raised her voice to an unnaturally loud pitch. ‘Okay, Stevie, it’s like this, the police are handling this case like DICKheads...’ The lawyers at the lift ceased their murmurings, all heads turned. ‘Did you get that? D—I—’
A bailiff caught Stevie’s eye and frowned.
‘Okay, you win.’ Seemed there was no choice. If she didn’t want to be evicted from the building, she’d have to hear Skye out. Stevie took Skye’s arm and guided her firmly toward the stairwell. A tall, fair-haired man stepped out in front of them as they were about to make their way down, deliberately bumping her on the shoulder. ‘Watch where you’re going, Stevie Hooper,’ he said, disappearing into the crowd outside the courtroom before she could get a good look at him.
Did she hear him correctly?
‘Hey, what’s that supposed to mean?’ Stevie started after him, only to find herself held back by Skye.
‘Stevie, we don’t have much time.’
Stevie pulled against her friend’s hand, but not enough to dislodge her grip.
‘Who was that guy?’ Skye said. ‘Hey, are you okay? You’re white as a sheet.’
Stevie absently touched her cheek, stared back into the whirlpool of people and shook her head in disbelief. ‘I’m not sure; I think the case is getting to me. I must be imagining things.’
Stevie hitched her skirt and climbed onto the pillion behind Skye. Dodging traffic and parked cars, they caught more than a few gaping stares and whistles as they sped down the terrace, to which Skye laughed and raised her middle finger. They arrived at the wine bar more than a little out of breath, Stevie laughing despite the annoyance at allowing herself to be so easily manipulated. The incident with the man on the stairs was forgotten. They ordered cheeseburgers and settled into a corner table, Stevie nursing an orange juice, Skye a vodka and Red Bull—it was her day off, after all.
‘How’s Monty? Do you think he’ll go through with the op this time?’ Skye asked.
From anyone else, the question might have been contrived, something off-topic to ease into the intended subject matter. But Skye had shown genuine concern for Monty’s health problems when they’d first come to a head last year, even offering to come over and talk to him about the operation if it would help.
‘Maybe he’ll go through with it if Wayne—he’s a guy Mont works with in Serious Crime—keeps his mouth shut this time,’ Stevie said. ‘He insisted on showing Monty his own scar, said the operation was like boning a duck with a pair of poultry scissors.’ She scissored her fingers. ‘I mean, it used to be dick length, now it’s bypass scars. What is it with guys growing older?’
Skye laughed. ‘Jeez, no wonder he’s been put off. But it’s really not that bad these days. Cook me dinner and I’ll come over and explain it a bit more gently. Better not make it poultry, though, just to be safe.’
‘Or rare beef.’
Skye took a swallow of her drink, smacked her lips. ‘That’s hitting the spot.’ Then she casually said, ‘I guess he’s also worried about sex.’
Stevie put her glass down. ‘What?’
‘Don’t be coy, he’s a man; sex is never far from his mind.’
Stevie broke into a smile, ‘Well, now you mention it...’
‘When he gets home from hospital, he’s got to find some stairs to start practising on.’
Stevie laughed.
‘No, not that, you dag; I mean once he can climb two flights of stairs with no pain or breathlessness he can get back into it again.’
‘I’ll pass on your words of advice. I’m sure he’ll find them very comforting.’
Their burgers arrived and Stevie was running out of time. ‘Okay, Skye, spill it, what have you been up to?’
Skye’s eyes took on a worrying gleam. ‘Well, for a start, I think a lot more is going on with this Pavel case than Luke Fowler is capable of handling.’
Stevie frowned. ‘Y
ou and Fowler know each other, right?’ Whatever Skye thought of Fowler, Stevie got the feeling it was mutual.
‘No time to explain the sordid details of my life right now, but let’s just say we have a history and he hates my guts.’
‘Okay,’ Stevie said, ‘Change of topic. You said before you thought the baby was adopted.’
Skye swallowed one bite of burger and took another, speaking with her mouth full. ‘Yeah, it’s the obvious explanation seeing as both parents are Caucasian.’ She pulled a crumpled newspaper photo from her bag to remind Stevie what the Pavels looked like. The images were grainy, but Jon Pavel’s high forehead and blunt features spoke of an eastern European heritage. While not quite so obviously European, Delia’s small, mousy face could never have been mistaken for Asian.
‘Yes, Romanian, they’ve been in the country for about six years,’ Skye said. ‘I’ve no idea if the police are going any further with this, or if they’ve just given up and chucked the matter into the too-hard basket. A mate of mine in the DCP tried to dig up the adoption papers but hasn’t been able to find a thing.’
‘He’s probably telling you a furphy—what you asked him to do is a serious, sackable offence. Still,’ Stevie added thoughtfully, ‘I suppose the baby might have been adopted from overseas.’
‘That’s what I’m getting at. He was adopted overseas and the papers burned in the house fire last year. But is there any way you can follow through with Fowler on this? Just so we know all the bases are covered. I feel this might be important.’
‘No way, I’m keeping away from this.’ Stevie eyed her friend suspiciously. ‘Wait a minute, how did you know about the fire last year? The newspapers haven’t mentioned it.’
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