He came over to perch on the corner of my desk, so close I could smell his aftershave. Good God. Was it possible that he could be even more handsome close up?
‘I also like a good bun,’ he said, peering down at my hair. His eyes were a startling shade of blue. I found myself staring straight into them, holding my breath.
‘Detective Senior Sergeant Roger Richardson at your service,’ he said holding out his hand. His accent was totally dreamy.
I took it in mine and, still gazing into his eyes, said, ‘Probationary Constable Chanel Bun. Oh… I mean Smith.’
Christ. Did I really just say that?
‘Constable Bun,’ he said, smiling, ‘it’s a pleasure to meet you.’
I gave him my cutest smile, hoping I didn’t have any donut stuck on my front teeth, and wishing I could think of something intelligent to say.
‘What do you say to coming for a ride with me?’
I desperately wanted to go, but I didn’t want to get into trouble on my first day. ‘I’m meant to be reading the manual,’ I said, hoping that didn’t make me sound like a loser.
‘Let me have a word with Ramy,’ he said, gliding off my desk.
I watched him walk across the room towards the hall, trying to think what his walk reminded me of. It wasn’t till he was on his way back a few minutes later that I got it. He moved like a lion, or a tiger. Like a predator.
‘Come on Constable Bun,’ he said, ‘we’re out of here.’
It was ridiculous how much pleasure I got out of his use of the word ‘we’. I was going to have to get a grip or make a total dick of myself.
‘Got your gun?’ he said.
‘Ahuh.’ The weight of the vest with the gun, baton, torch and spray was going to take some getting used to.
‘Is there one in the barrel?’
‘Pardon?’
‘Have they showed you where to load it?’
I shook my head, a bit embarrassed that I had been about to embark on my first foray as a policewoman with an unloaded gun.
‘Come on,’ he said. He took me down to the gun locker. ‘We can only go in one at a time so I’ll have to tell you what to do. In there you’ll find a gun loading machine. You always load your gun with it facing into the machine.’
‘In case I misfire?’
‘Exactly.’
I opened the door to the locker room.
‘Oh,’ he said, ‘you’ll find your locker in there with a padlock on it. That’s where your gun lives when you’re not working.’
I nodded my head. ‘Anything else?’
‘Just smile for the cameras.’
I entered the locker room and looked around. Cameras were located in the four corners of the room filming the two rows of lockers that ran back to back down the centre. I could see one with my name on it. A padlock with a key sticking out of it hung from the latch.
At the far end was the gun-loading machine. I put my hand in there with the gun, barrel facing away from me, and inserted the magazine. Then I pulled back on the top, chambering a round.
I was insanely nervous about holding the loaded weapon. I mean I know I’d done it before but this was different. There was no-one here to tell me if what I was doing was right. I carefully placed the loaded gun in the holster and went back out to where Roger was waiting.
‘So what are we doing?’ I asked, trying to make my voice sound nonchalant. I didn’t do a very good job and instead it was tinged with excitement.
Roger flashed a grin at me. ‘We’re going to drive around and play my favourite game.’
I was dying to know what his favourite game was. Was it at all possible that it was catch and kiss?
‘We’re going to play let’s imagine who’s breaking the law.’
Oh. That game.
We drove around for about an hour, taking turns to point out people and guess what they were up to. A man on his cell phone was suddenly a drug dealer calling in an order. A woman walking up the street in a short skirt was a lady of the night on an early shift. A girl fighting with a man was a victim of domestic abuse.
I hadn’t had so much fun in ages.
We worked our way down to the other end of King’s Cross – the seedy part, as Roger called it – and were heading back to the station when Roger said, ‘That’s weird.’
‘What’s weird?’
He pulled the car over next to the curb in a no standing zone (ahhh, the perks of being a policeman) and stopped.
‘The lane back there. There are normally some hookers hanging out near the entry.’
‘Even during the day?’
‘No rest for the wicked.’
‘Maybe they’ve gone for coffee.’
‘No. They guard their territory pretty well. They would have left at least one here.’ He hopped out of the car and I followed suit. ‘Check your weapon,’ he said.
I nodded nervously and felt for it at my waist. Check – one weapon.
The lane was narrow with a long line of properties backing onto it on either side. I followed him into it, looking around nervously for would-be muggers or drug dealers.
‘This was originally built as a dunny lane,’ Roger said in a low voice.
‘A dunny lane?’ I noticed he had drawn his gun and copied him.
‘Back in the day before sewerage systems, the waste was taken away up these lanes.’
It felt like a sewerage lane – oppressive and mucky, and scary to boot. My anxiety was increasing exponentially with the distance from the car; my heart beat wild, my breathing ragged. I wanted to ask him to return to the vehicle, but I couldn’t. Firstly because I didn’t want him to know I was scared and secondly because this was my job.
Eventually we could see the end in the distance and I felt Roger relax. ‘Stupid imagination,’ he said, starting to turn towards the car. But then he stopped and stiffened, staring towards the back corner of the lane.
A piece of pink chiffon fluttered in the breeze.
‘Not again,’ I heard Roger say, his voice a low moan of distress.
I followed him to the chiffon, my eyes travelling slowly down the bright slash of pink. My thinking was robotic as I documented that the material belonged to a blouse with pearl buttons and a sash waist and that the colour looked good against the soft crème of the short skirt. My eyes moved on, against my wishes, to a swan neck, a delicate angular cheek, before settling, finally, on the horror of her staring eyes.
She would have been pretty if she weren’t covered in blood. Even through the smudge of red on her face I could see the cheekbones, the curve of her lips. Her limbs lay in a jumble, her clothes askew. It looked as if she had been fighting: her fingers curled into claws, her legs bent for kicking. Fighting until the life had left her, leaking out through the wound at her throat.
I staggered away and threw up, heaving up my donuts as tears tracked freely down my face. The image of her body was burnt into my mind; even with my eyes closed I could see her clearly.
When I was finished with the puking, I wiped my mouth on a tissue and turned back towards the woman.
‘First dead body?’ Roger asked.
‘No, I see them all the time.’
He smiled wryly at me. ‘Sorry.’
‘All part of the job,’ I said, shrugging. I looked away from her. All of a sudden I wasn’t so sure I had finished being sick.
‘Why don’t you sit over there,’ he said, ‘while I call in backup.’
In the end I went back up the lane to wait for the rest of the crime squad. I wanted to watch them work, but I was loath to embarrass myself again, so I got a lift back to the station with one of the other detectives.
Daniel was still diligently reading his operational manual when I arrived. I quietly took a seat at my desk and flipped the book back open.
‘They found another body?’ Bob, Nathan and Mark clustered around my desk.
‘Ahuh.’ I saw Daniel look up from his book and push his glasses up his nose.
‘What do you
mean another body?’ he asked.
‘Is that the fourth or the fifth?’ Bob said to the others.
‘The fifth,’ Mark confirmed.
‘Were they all prostitutes?’ I asked. Roger had been sure she was one of the women who normally worked the area.
‘Yep.’
‘And they’re always killed the same way?’
‘Throat cut?’ Bob asked.
‘Yes.’ I shuddered at the memory. I had never realised how much blood was in the human body.
‘That’s our serial killer.’ Bob shook his head and went back to his desk.
‘It gets easier with time,’ Nathan said, putting a hand on my shoulder.
‘I hope so,’ I said, but privately I thought it would be a sadder world when I was not affected by the sight of a dead body.
***
I didn’t sleep well that night. Every time I managed to fall asleep the dead woman’s memory haunted me, asking me to help her. Of course, then I would wake straight up and the noise from the street would delay my return to slumber.
Daniel and I were still plugging our way through the manual the next day when Roger sauntered into work. Bob and Nathan, who were filling out some paperwork, gathered around his desk, asking him questions about the latest murder.
More for the want to do something, anything, rather than read that stupid manual, I hopped up, stretched and proceeded to make the coffee. Besides, it would give me an excuse to get closer to Roger without it looking obvious.
‘Just the same as the others,’ I heard him say. ‘Whoever the killer is…they’re good.’ His voice held a note of frustration.
‘So nothing for forensics?’
‘No skin under her nails, or hair. It will take a bit more time to get the results for saliva and semen.’
‘Nothing dropped at the scene?’ I asked.
Roger looked at me standing behind the others. ‘Hello Constable Bun,’ he said.
I blushed and handed him a coffee. ‘Milk and sugar?’ I asked.
‘I like ‘em white and sweet.’
I blushed even harder and scuttled back to the manual. Daniel was still sitting at his desk, but he was watching Roger and the others.
‘No,’ Roger said, answering my question, ‘nothing dropped at the scene.’
I buried my head in my book and pretended to be busy, but I was listening really hard; listening for details of the serial killer but also listening for any mention of a girlfriend, or worse yet, a wife.
They joked around for a while but there was no more talk of the serial killer. He drank his coffee, left his dirty cup on the edge of the sink, and then approached Daniel.
‘Coming?’ he said.
Daniel looked up through his glasses, goggling at Roger. ‘Yes sir,’ he said, standing up quickly.
‘Detective,’ Roger corrected him.
I tried to suppress my disappointment that he had taken Daniel and not me. I told myself it was only fair, seeing as how I had gotten to ride with him yesterday, but I was bored and – who am I kidding – already had a huge crush on Roger. I washed up his cup and then the rest of the day passed slowly until I got to pack up my things and go home.
6
Why Does This Sort Of Stuff Always Happen To Me?
I bought a paper on the way home and searched the ‘For Rent’ pages while I ate my dinner. Then I smuggled Cocoa outside in my back pack and we went for a walk.
Sydney in October has a tangible energy; a city waking up after a long, cold winter. It was contagious and I found myself smiling as I walked.
I took Cocoa down to the dog park and released him from the lead. He ran off, nose to the ground as he sought the best place to lay his golden egg. When he had finished, I picked it up in a bag, promising myself I was going to put him on a healthier diet, and threw it into a bin. Then I sat down on a park bench that provided a view out over the city below.
I had only been there for a minute when I heard a voice say, ‘Oooh, will you look at that. It’s love at first sight.’
A short man, wearing tight jeans and an even tighter black t-shirt which emphasised a sculpted chest, crossed the walkway and sat down next to me. He gestured with a hand to where Cocoa was running around with a black poodle.
‘Oh,’ I said. ‘It’s nice to see him playing with a dog his own size.’ I still hadn’t gotten over the sight of him playing with the Alsatians.
‘I’m Bwuce,’ he said.
‘Bwuce?’
‘No… Bewuce.’
‘Oh Bruce,’ I said. ‘I’m Chanel.’
‘That’s Lancelot,’ he said, pointing towards the poodle.
‘Cocoa,’ I said.
He let out a high pitch giggle and fluttered his hands around. ‘Cocoa and Chanel, that’s a good one.’
I smiled. ‘Actually my ex-boyfriend named him.’
‘Ooh well, he had a sense of humour. Is he still single?’
I started to laugh and then realised he was serious. ‘Yes, but he doesn’t live in Sydney.’
Bruce sighed. ‘Shame, it’s hard to find a man with a good sense of humour.’
Lancelot and Cocoa ran past us, rubbing up against each other and gently biting each other’s muzzles.
‘If only it were that easy,’ Bruce said.
‘So, there aren’t a lot of gay men in King’s Cross?’
‘Oh nooo,’ he said, ‘there’s heaps of them, just not a lot looking for a relationship.’
I mulled his words over and then sighed. ‘I know how you feel,’ I said. All of the men I had met in the last few years who had been interested in more than a roll in the hay had been dull. Thinking I was being fussy (okay, giving into Mum’s nagging that I was being fussy) I had given it a shot with Tommy. The only good thing that had come out of that had been Cocoa.
‘Why aren’t the bad boys interested in relationships?’ I said to Bruce.
‘Girlfriend,’ he said, waving his hands around, ‘if they were interested in a relationship then they wouldn’t be bad boys.’
I left Bruce there with a promise to meet him and Lancelot the next night, and wandered back to the apartment. It was starting to get dark and a woman in a short skirt had taken up residence on one of the street corners. Was she a prostitute? I couldn’t be sure. But I was dying to ask her if she knew anything about the woman’s body we had found yesterday.
I grasped my courage with both hands and walked towards her.
‘Sorry sister,’ she said, ‘I ain’t interested in that kind of action.’
Well, that answered that question.
‘Oh no,’ I said, ‘neither am I. I wanted to ask you about…’ I stopped, not sure how to frame the question.
‘About what?’ Suspicion coated her words.
‘The woman whose body was found yesterday.’
She stared at me for a few seconds before asking, ‘You a cop?’
‘Yes,’ I said.
‘I don’t talk to no cops,’ she said, turning her back on me.
‘Oh no, I’m not like that,’ I said, smiling.
She continued to ignore me.
‘I just want to help.’ Even to my ears it sounded lame.
‘You want to help?’ she said, swivelling her head to look at me again.
‘Yes.’ I nodded my head eagerly hoping to impress her with my sincerity.
‘Then go away pig. You’re scaring off my customers.’
If she had slapped me it would have stunned me less. Pig? I mean I was a cop but I wasn’t like … Like what? I asked myself. Like all the other cops?
I sighed and headed back towards the apartment. Of course I was like all the other cops. It didn’t matter that I wanted to be liked by everybody (not that that had ever worked out for me before), now there were going to be people that hated me because of what I stood for – the law – and I was just going to have to get used to it.
***
It wasn’t until the next day that I realised I could have arrested her for prostitution. But
I was off duty, I told myself. Plus, if I really wanted to get information over the dead woman the last thing I needed to do was alienate the prostitutes in the area. This brought me to the question. Why did I want information on the dead woman? What was I going to do with it? Find the serial killer?
Well why not? A very small part of me asked.
Yeah right. There were experienced detectives working this case that were baffled, as if I could find anything useful. I slapped the small part of myself a few times till it shut up and then opened the manual.
I was nearly all the way through it and Bob had advised me as soon as I was finished I was going out on the beat with him. That news had given me much needed inspiration to keep reading. Daniel had finished his the day before and had disappeared that morning with Nathan. I had been green with envy, but Roger had turned up shortly afterwards and flirted with me which had placated me slightly, until I realised he’d dumped his dirty mug on my desk.
‘Good work man.’ Nathan’s voice woke me from my doze.
What had I been doing? Oh yeah, right – reading that stupid manual.
‘Thanks.’ Daniel’s voice sounded more embarrassed than normal.
I stood up and headed for the coffee machine. The sleepless nights were getting to me and I had high hopes for an apartment I was looking at after work today, but for right now, I needed caffeine.
Daniel and Nathan entered the muster room and sat down at their prospective desks to fill out paperwork. I made them both coffee and delivered it to them.
‘How’d it go?’ I asked Daniel, looking over his shoulder at the paperwork. It was an arrest report.
‘Good.’ He shrugged and smiled at me.
‘He made his first arrest,’ Nathan said.
‘He did?’ I felt the ugly green monster stirring inside me. ‘That’s great.’ I wrestled the monster to the ground, slammed a lid over it and stuffed it into the back corner of my mind.
‘Caught a shoplifter down at the 7-11.’
Damn, while I had been snoring, Daniel had been out arresting criminals. I really had to finish that manual.
I shuffled back to my desk and started reading again.
‘How much do you have to go?’ Bob asked me a few minutes later.
Donna Joy Usher - Chanel 01 - Cocoa and Chanel Page 7
