Under The Hood

by Juanita Kees

  “Breaking news tonight from the Perth hills where well-known local businessman Scott Devin has been detained for questioning in regards to the death of Terence Watts. New evidence has come to light which implicates Mr Devin in the disappearance and subsequent death of the eighteen-year-old. Terence was an apprentice under the controversial teenage rehabilitation program run by Mr Devin’s dealership and advocated by Tiffany Jane Stevens. Miss Stevens’ teen shelter building project was destroyed by a suspicious fire last night. Neither Mr Devin’s family nor Miss Stevens were available for comment today, but we have been informed that Mr Devin is co-operating with police in their enquiry. More on that story later. … Now to a—”

  TJ stabbed the ‘off’ button and tossed the remote onto the coffee table. What had Scott seen in that list that had made the shutters slam shut? Her heart could not … would not … accept that he had somehow been involved in Tiny’s death and the subsequent fire. What possible motive could he have? He’d embraced the program, involved himself in the building project and mentored both boys without a hint of adversity.

  Cold crept up her spine as the puzzle pieces started to fall into place to form a picture she wished she couldn’t see. Scott’s buying a struggling business on the opposite side of the country with a direct link to drug rehabilitation. The controversy over Serena Snow and her case against him for harassment. Had that court case been a smoke screen?

  Serena showing up in town with an obvious connection to Gino Bennetti, who himself had questionable ties to the underground. Was Scott a pawn in the game or a player?

  Sarge grumbled as he stood to stretch and shake the sleep from his body. He sat and stared at her a moment with his sad brown eyes before sitting down and placing his large head on her lap. TJ rubbed his ears.

  “Looks like it’s only you and me now, buddy.”

  Sarge answered with a yawn and wandered over to the French doors leading to the veranda. TJ stood and stretched her aching muscles before opening the door to let him out for a run.

  “Don’t wander too far away from the house, Sarge.” After the events of last night, she was reluctant to have to go searching for him if he decided to take off. Her once safe haven now felt empty, dark and threatening. Maybe it was time to give up. Maybe she had to accept that she couldn’t make a difference. No. That would be admitting defeat. TJ Stevens was no quitter. She would have to find another way. For Tiny, Marty, Luke and Connor, and all the others to come.

  She sighed as her mobile phone vibrated on the coffee table. The screen flashed brightly in the dim light of the room. Picking it up she scanned the screen. Rose.

  “Hi Rose,” she said.

  “Hello love.” Rose’s voice was thick with tears. “How are you holding up?”

  “A little numb.”

  “Yes, I understand. You don’t believe all this nonsense do you?”

  “I don’t know what to believe right now.”

  “We’ve been told to stay indoors, otherwise we’d come over. Are you okay alone over there?”

  “I’ll be fine, Rose. I have Sarge.” She heaved a sigh of relief as the big dog wandered back in through the open door. TJ walked back over to close and lock it. For the first time in the history of Rowley’s Gumnut Cottage, she drew the curtains on the twinkling lights of the hills.

  “He didn’t do it, TJ.”

  “My heart knows that, but my head is telling me different.”

  “Then follow your heart. I’m sure the police will have answers soon. Mark Johnson is a good detective. He’ll find the truth.”

  “Yes.” She hoped with all her heart he would.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Monday morning came around too soon for TJ. What would she find down the hill at the dealership this morning? With Scott in custody, what would happen to the business? She opened the door of the shed, thankful that it had survived the fire with only a few black scars where the flames had licked at the foundations. If she’d lost Bruce too, she would have lost everything. But there stood the shiny FJ Holden ute, unscathed. A sign of hope amongst the ruins of her dreams.

  The cloud of despair that had settled around her shoulders lifted a little as she opened the door.

  “Come on, Sarge, in you get!” There was no harm in taking him along with her today. At least he wouldn’t be home alone. Her mobile rang in the pocket of her jeans. She fished it out to look at the screen. Private number. Frowning, she answered it. “Hello?”

  “The fire was only the beginning. Rebuild and you’re next.” The sexless, tinny voice echoed from the speaker into the misty morning air.

  Anger warred with fear as TJ tensed at the threat. Anger won. “Fuck you, you witless bastard. You want me? Come and get me. I’ll be waiting.” She hung up and tossed the phone onto the seat.

  Bile rose in her throat but she forced it back down. Stupid! How could she be so stupid? Sometimes her mouth engaged before her brain. She’d given an arsonist and possible murderer an open invitation.

  Sliding onto the driver’s seat, she secured the dog’s harness and connected it to the seatbelt. “That was a bloody silly thing to do, wasn’t it, Sarge?”

  She started the engine, shifted into drive and carefully manoeuvred the car out of the shed. Her hands shook a little as she stopped to put it in neutral and got out to close the shed door.

  Back in the car, she negotiated the blackened driveway onto the Brookton Highway before picking up the discarded phone and dialling Mark Johnson’s number.

  “Detective Mark Johnson.” The deep, serious tone in his voice was oddly reassuring.

  “Mark, it’s TJ.”

  “I know. You’re in my phone under Trouble. I hope you’re on hands-free. I can hear traffic.”

  She smiled. “I have my hands a little full right now.”

  “No kidding. What’s up?”

  “I received a phone call this morning. Apparently the caller wants me dead too.”

  “What did he say?”

  “That I’m next if I rebuild. It sounded like the voice was disguised, like a recording or something.”

  His voice turned to stone. “Where are you now?”

  “On my way to work.”

  “I’ll see you there. We’re on our way there to check up on a few leads.”

  “What will happen to the business?”

  “Business as usual until we find anything that confirms Scott’s involvement. If that happens, everything will be seized by the courts and all his assets frozen.”

  “And we’ll all be out of a job.”

  “Pretty much. I’ll get to the bottom of it.”

  “I know you will.” She flicked her indicator on to turn right onto Albany Highway. “Do you really believe he’s involved?”

  Mark’s pause weighed heavily in the cab of the ute. “You know I can’t say.”

  “I know. It was unfair of me to ask.”

  “The notebook and the list are proving useful evidence. Tiny was a clever boy.”

  “Yes, he was. Pity he wasn’t clever enough to stay away from it all together.”

  “Kids do silly things.”

  “Silly things get them killed.” She backed off the accelerator as a teenage driver with probationary plates displayed in his back window sped past to cut back into the lane in front of her. “Case in point. Bloody P-platers!”

  Mark chuckled. “Try to stay out of trouble until you get here. I’ll be waiting.”

  She hung up as she indicated her turn into the dealership parking lot. Bruce slid home neatly into a vacant bay, and she turned off the engine. Sarge hung his head out the open window and barked loudly as TJ unclipped his harness from the seatbelt. She ruffled his neck.

  “It’s okay, big fella. You can stand down.”

  He whined and nudged her arm as if to hurry her along. Her hand paused on the door handle as she saw Scott standing at the window of his office. With a sigh, she opened the door and got out, followed closely by Sarge’s bulk. She hooked a finger on the lo
op of his harness to stop him taking off and scaring the customers.

  Marty was the first to spot her from the workshop and he jogged over.

  “Hey,” he said by way of greeting, his fist held out for a knuckle bump.

  “Hey.” TJ met his knuckle bump with her own. “I guess you heard about the fire?”

  “Yeah. Shit luck.” He fished 20c out of his pocket and dropped it in her outstretched hand. “What’s gonna happen now?”

  “I don’t know.” The hopelessness of the reply echoed in the parking lot. “I guess we’ll decide once we have the report from the fire.”

  “Sucks.”

  “Yes it does. How are you doing?”

  “Yeah, I’m good. Just pissed about this whole thing.”

  “You staying out of trouble?”

  Yep. I’m done with that shit now. I promised Mum.”

  “That’s great, Marty. Are you staying on at home?”

  “Yeah. Mum said I could move back in. But I have to stay clean.”

  “And you will.” TJ punched his arm.

  He surprised her by hugging her tightly. “Thanks TJ. I would never have gotten this far without you … and Mr D.” He let her go and stepped back. “Why are the cops here?”

  “Long story. I’ll tell you and the others what’s going on when I have more facts. Right now, all we have is clues.”

  “Okay. Tony’s got things under control. Detective Johnson said to tell you to come to Mr D’s office when you’re ready.”

  “Thanks, mate. Can you take Sarge out back and give him some water?”

  “Sure thing.” He took the leash from TJ and hooked it into the clip of the harness. “Come, Sarge.”

  With only the slightest hesitation, Sarge trotted after Marty as TJ made her way inside. She waved to the workshop boys through the observation window. They stood lined up at the clock machine waiting to start the day. In the reception area, the service advisors attended the customers, whose curious glances kept swinging to the police cars parked in the lot. They would have seen the news, heard the rumours. Things wouldn’t remain a secret for much longer. It would become the talk down at the local pub over a few beers, the gossip in the queue at the post office, the Chinese whispers on the bus into the city.

  “It’s okay. It’s business as usual, Mrs Thomas. The police are here to do a routine investigation.” TJ reassured one of their regulars who wondered out loud whether she should leave her car here after all.

  Would things ever be okay again? Scott’s door loomed in the gloomy corridor. The office staff would be arriving soon, and the administration department on her left would become a hive of activity … and gossip. Squaring her shoulders, she pushed open the door to Scott’s office.

  Mark looked up from the computer screen he studied, pen in hand poised above his notebook.

  “Morning, TJ. Take a seat.”

  “Hi, Mark. Scott.”

  Her gaze settled on his back, stiff and straight, his shoulders squarely set, ready to take the load. He didn’t turn around; instead he acknowledged her presence with a stiff nod.

  “So tell me about the phone call.” Mark drew her attention away as rejection squeezed painfully at her heart.

  “Not much to tell really. He said that if I rebuild, I’ll be next.”

  “What makes you think the voice was male?”

  “I don’t. It could be male or female, but it was tinny. Like a recording through a synthesiser or one of those kid’s masks that make you sound like Darth Vader.”

  “What did you say?”

  TJ shrugged. “I told him to come and get me. Then I hung up.” She sensed rather than saw Scott turn from the window, felt his gaze burn on her face. Good, he was angry. She preferred anger. It was better than the cold wall he’d put up.

  Mark pinched the bridge of his nose and squeezed his eyes shut. “Jesus, TJ. Why do you have to be such a little scrapper? Couldn’t you just put the phone down like a normal person?”

  “No. Where would the fun be in that?”

  “Fun? You think this is a joke?” Scott stalked over to where she sat and hauled her up out of the chair. His fingers bit into her upper arms as his eyes burned on hers.

  TJ met his glare with equal fire. “I’ve just lost everything I’ve worked so hard for. If whoever did this wants to come after me, I say let them come. I won’t go down without a fight!”

  “You won’t be alive to fight!”

  “Is that a threat?”

  Mark cleared his throat. “Put her down, Scott.” He leaned back in the chair and looked at them thoughtfully. “I might leave you two alone for a moment. Try not to shed too much blood. One murder investigation is about as much as I can handle right now.”

  With his gaze anchoring hers, Scott set TJ on her feet and loosened his grip on her arms. “Thanks, Mark.”

  “Yeah, thanks Mark!” Sarcasm dripped from her tone.

  As the door closed behind the detective, Scott rubbed her upper arms where his fingers had left red imprints. “This isn’t a game.”

  “I’m aware of that.”

  “Give it up, please. Even if only until this case is settled.”

  “I can’t. What happens to the likes of Marty, Luke and Connor while I sit back and let some … turd take everything away from us? How long will it take to end it? It will never end, Scott! If they catch whoever did this, there’ll be someone else to take their place. It’s a fight I’ll keep on fighting.”

  “Until what? Until they kill you too? Until they take everything?”

  “If that’s what it takes. So tell your little girlfriend and her cronies to come and get me. I’m waiting.” She punctuated the last word with a stab of her forefinger on his chest.

  He gripped the offending finger and raised it to his lips. He pressed a kiss on the pad and held it there for a moment. “Do you believe I had something to do with it?”

  For a moment TJ couldn’t think past the movement of his lips against her fingers as he uncurled each one from the fist they’d formed and gave them the same treatment. Heat blended with the anger that boiled in her stomach.

  “No.”

  “That’s all I need to know.”

  The hand that held her fingers moved to trace her face as the other pressed into her lower back. Scott perched against the desk and spread his legs so she fit neatly between them. His hand moved to cup the back of her head as he pulled her closer.

  Her hands crept up his chest, touched the cord of neck and crept over the stubble on his jaw. He was tired. Judging from the bloodshot eyes, he’d had even less sleep than she’d had. For a moment she held his gaze and read what was clear in their depth. She nodded as his lips searched for hers, stroked, tasted, deepened to the most tender of kisses. For one brief moment, the world and its dramas faded away. The only sound the sigh of pleasure.

  “Okay, kids. Break it up!” Mark’s voice interrupted as they slowly stepped apart. “It’s time to go, Scott.”

  Scott set her away from him with a sigh. “It’ll be okay.”

  “I know. I best get back to work now. We have a shop to run.”

  Her hands slid from his chest as she pushed away and walked to the door.

  “And TJ?” Mark’s voice stopped her. “Stay out of trouble? At least until we can solve this case?”

  TJ smiled. “I’ll try, but I can’t make any promises.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Three weeks later, TJ sat on her veranda, beer in hand as she watched the contractor and his mini-excavator scrape up the rubble from the fire and dump it in the back of a trailer.

  A complete new beginning. All that remained of the old cabins now was what she’d come to think of as Tiny’s Chimney. The new brick walls they’d built had been unstable from the heat of the fire and had to be pulled down. She’d decided to make a complete new start.

  The site would become a garden, a meeting place she’d open to teens. Tiny’s chimney would house an inbuilt gas barbeque. He’d like that. Pic
nic tables and benches, a site to pitch tents and camp out. The council had agreed to sponsor activities in a partnership with the Police Citizens and Youth Club.

  Another sponsor had promised them a graffiti wall where teens could express their emotions in paint, no spray cans—only brushes. And when the wall was full, their anger and frustration forgotten, they could whitewash it and start again. Layer after layer of paint and emotion…a cleansing ritual.

  Sheila was home in the shed next to Bruce, her engine on a pallet next to her. With her engine and transmission removed to make her lighter, they’d found a towing contractor with a racing car trailer that could make the steep climb up the hill that a flatbed truck couldn’t.

  Every weekend, Marty, Connor and Luke came up, pitched their tent under the gum tree by the creek and spent their day overhauling the engine or stripping out her interior in preparation for restoration. A few of Tiny’s possessions had place of honour on a shelf in the shed: his coffee cup, a handful of tools. The boys were constructing a box frame to display them in. When it was finished, it would go up on the wall at the back of the shed. All they were waiting for was Tiny’s notebook to come home. That was the centrepiece of their tribute.

  TJ thought of the band equipment donated by the local second hand shop and the area at the back of the shed that was set to become a recording studio. The plans lay on the table in front of her. A little sound deadener on the walls to protect the neighbours and a set of earplugs for her and Sarge and they’d be right. All that was missing was Scott.

  Scott. The investigation had gone into lockdown with a total press ban. Since it was business as usual down at the dealership, she assumed they’d found nothing there to link Scott to the murder or the fire. Why then was he still in police custody?

  There’d been no more threatening phone calls and no more incidents at the property. She wondered if that was due to the police presence until today, as they’d pieced together the jigsaw puzzle their lives had become. Or perhaps it was that word had got around that she had no plans to rebuild the shelter. Maybe they didn’t see a garden as a big threat to their trade.