by June Whyte
“Be my guest,” I said and let out a sigh, more than happy to hand over Scott’s resuscitating procedure to the experts. My legs, cramped from kneeling, went a bit wobbly as I stood up. Hunched over, I wiped rain from my eyes and hobbled across to huddle under the shelter of the nearby bushes.
“Did you get any response at all?” called out the voluptuous redhead inserting a needle into Scott’s arm while her partner continued counting out compressions.
“Could be my imagination, but I thought he blinked his eyes when you pulled into the car park.”
“Good.”
I stayed where I was, hunched over, coat collar pulled up, eyes glued to Scott’s pink face, praying the medics would succeed where I had failed.
“He took a breath!” The guy called Grant gasped, renewing his efforts. “Quick. Have the oxygen ready.”
I stepped closer, eager to witness a miracle. And when Scott started coughing and spluttering, causing Grant to finally cease CPR and slide an oxygen mask over the patient’s face, I punched the air with my fist. Let out a throaty, Yeeees! Okay, I didn’t actually know Liz’s ex-boyfriend, but after exchanging mouth fluids while giving a person the kiss of life, it’s only natural to form a close attachment. In fact I had to mentally restrain myself from doing a tap dance in the nearest puddle—for fear my version of ‘Singing in the Rain’ might plummet the patient into another coma.
As they stabilized and loaded Scott into the ambulance, Grant smiled across at me. “Whoever this man is—he owes his life to you, young lady. Good work.”
I smiled back, then, suddenly deflated, shook my head. “Maybe he won’t thank me when he wakes up. Maybe he’ll just be angry I pulled him from the car.”
“Suicide is a strange thing,” Grant said, climbing into the driver’s seat. “When he realizes how close he came to not being here, he’ll feel differently. Don’t worry.”
I could see two young police constables near Scott’s VW Beetle while three other uniforms kept bug-eyed spectators from getting any closer.
The only other policeman, an ox of a man built like a linebacker, seemed to be in charge of the scene. Like the others, he was dressed in the traditional country uniform of khaki trousers, RM Williams drizabone over khaki shirt and a khaki colored Akubra hat with a blue and white checked band. After snapping orders like bullets at the men near Scott’s car, he turned toward me. Back ramrod straight, he marched across the bitumen.
“Name?” he barked.
I drew myself up to my full height, which meant the tip of my nose reached his breastbone, tilted my head back, and scowled up at him. Ever since I’d run up against Miss Emily Virgo, an officious teacher in sixth grade who bullied instead of encouraging her pupils, I’d rebelled against that tone of voice. Okay, it had got me into the headmaster’s office a few times but that only made me rebel more politely.
“Sorry, but if you don’t know your name—neither do I.”
His frown imploded in on itself. I could see impatience and a flick of surprise spark in his eyes. He sniffed and shifted his weight back on his heels. “I’m Senior Constable Mark Kelly, the constable in charge of this operation.”
“And I’m Kat McKinley,” I said and thrust out my hand, which he ignored. Instead he switched on a small recorder, his eyes never leaving mine. Returning the glare, I withdrew my hand and stuffed it into my soggy coat pocket. “In fact,” I continued in my best hey-you! voice, “I’m the lady you should be putting up for a medal, instead of treating like a criminal.”
His face reddened and one hand strayed to his accoutrement belt, where a gun, radio, some sort of spray, handcuffs and a retractable baton lurked. “You can either answer my questions here or down at the station.”
His steely gaze continued to bore through me until I lowered my eyes to his muddy black RM Williams boots. Okay, maybe this was different from standing up to bossy Miss Virgo. She might have carried an athletic ruler but she sure as heck didn’t pack a gun.
“Here is fine.”
His lips flattened in what could be interpreted as a triumphant smile—or the effects of indigestion. “Ms McKinley, are you acquainted with the man who attempted to commit suicide?”
“Sorry, don’t know him from Adam,” I said and shook my head. Okay…sort of the truth. I didn’t actually know him. Only knew of him. Couldn’t even be sure the guy in the car was Scott Brady.
“So, tell me, what exactly were you doing out here? Is this where you parked your car?”
“No. I was just—going for a walk. You know, stretching my legs.”
“In the rain?”
“It wasn’t raining then.” I scowled. “Now, Senior Constable Kelly, do you want me to answer your question or not?”
“Continue.”
“Thank you. I was going for a walk, stretching my legs—”
“As you’ve already informed me.”
“—when I spotted this red car partly hidden behind the bushes,” I said ignoring his rudeness. “And of course when I saw a hose leading from the passenger window into the exhaust, I immediately switched off the ignition, rang for help, and pulled the victim from the car.” I gave him one of my most beatific smiles. “As any like-minded citizen in the same situation would do.”
Hey, I wasn’t fool enough to let this gnarly policeman know I’d been on my way to a pre-arranged meeting with Scott when I spotted his car set up as a weapon of destruction. Until I knew what was going on, this information wasn’t an option.
“Senior Constable,” one of the policemen called out, interrupting the interview. The constable had a sort of breathing apparatus covering his face and came hurrying from the direction of the red Beetle, holding a sheet of paper at one corner by the tips of his gloved fingers. “Found a suicide note. The man’s name is Scott Brady and he’s confessed to killing some guy down in Adelaide by the name of Jack Lantana.”
Whaaat?
I swear my ears stood up and waggled. Why would Scott kill Jack? How did he even know Jack? And where did my sister fit into all this?
“Bag it,” ordered Kelly, rubbing his hands together and growing an extra couple of inches in height. “And after notifying the CSI and the PES make sure two uniforms are assigned to take turns guarding the offender while he’s in hospital.” He turned back to me, his chest expanding in correlation with the importance of the criminal found on his patch. “You may go now, Ms. McKinley, but I want you to come down to the station at your earliest convenience and sign a statement.” Then, without waiting for my acquiescence, he left me huddled under the bushes and strode away, presumably to intimidate another likely victim.
Soaked to the skin, confused, and determined to stay in Port Augusta until Scott woke up then somehow slip past a vigilant policeman at the hospital so I could get some answers about Liz, I went to find Ben.
I had to let him know he’d be going home without me.
* * *
“No way. If you’re staying here in Port Augusta—so am I.”
“But you can’t. What about your dogs?”
Ben placed his hands on my shoulders and began to knead the muscles with the tips of his fingers. Felt good. So good I almost let go and started blubbing. “Don’t worry, babe. We’ll book a hotel room for the night and I’ll ask Kenny Gilbert to put my dogs up. He’s a good mate.”
“Oh Ben, what’s going on?” I shivered and it wasn’t just from wearing wet clothes. “I can’t believe Scott would kill the old guy who was stealing my dogs. Why would he? Scott sounded scared when he spoke to me on the phone. Or do you think he was just playing me for a fool?”
Ben pulled me up against him. “If he was then I hope the mongrel gets what he deserves. If not… I’m glad you were there to save his life.”
“And what about Liz? Where the heck is she? Fair dinkum, I’m going to wring her stubborn little neck when I find her. Make her promise to contact me every week. Let me know where she is and what she’s up to.” I took a breath. Met Ben’s eyes. “Ben, I didn’t
tell you this before because I thought you’d get upset, but Scott sent me a text yesterday. He asked me to meet him here and said Liz was in trouble.”
Ben’s fingers on my shoulders stilled. “You should have told me, babe.”
“I know, I know. I’m sorry. But I thought you’d get all, me-Tarzan-you-Jane, and insist on coming with me and Scott said to come alone.”
“And since when have you ever followed orders?”
I sniffed. Let that one ride. “Anyway, that’s why I have to talk to Scott now—find out what he knows about Liz.” And then a staggering thought hit me. Punched me like a fist in the chest. Made me gasp. “Oh, Jesus, what if Scott killed Liz before attempting to commit suicide? What if I just saved the monster that killed my sister?”
A convulsive full body shiver took hold of me leaving me barely able to stand. Loud background noises dimmed. The frenetic barking of dogs and shouts of trainers preparing to leave the course were replaced by a strange humming noise in my ears. I closed my eyes and clung onto Ben’s shirt like a life support in a raging sea.
“Easy does it, darling.” Ben’s arms, reassuring and rock solid pulled me against him and his voice crooned in my ear. “Don’t go trying to second guess this thing, babe, ’cos that’s the way madness lies.” He bent to entwine his fingers into a handful of my wet straggly hair, eased my face up to his and the gentle kiss that followed kick-started my brain, sent blood pounding through my body again. “Don’t worry. We’ll find a way to talk to Scott and question him about Liz. Even if I have to dress up as a bloody nurse and threaten to bash the guy on the head with a bedpan. Okay?”
I nodded. The vision of a 6’3” nurse built to play ruck in a weekend footy match, mincing into the hospital room carrying a lethal bedpan made me smile.
“Now,” Ben went on, evidently happy to see the smile. “Let’s get these dogs settled so we can find somewhere to shower and change into dry clothes before going to the hospital to visit a…sick friend.”
After ringing and organizing for Jake to take over my team for twenty-four hours and Ben’s brother, Nick, to look after the dogs he’d left at home, we went to find Kenny Gilbert.
“Sure can, mate,” said Kenny when Ben asked to leave his dogs in his kennels overnight. “Just follow me home and we’ll shift a few dogs around. Make some room.” He gazed at me with sympathetic eyes. “You okay, Kat? Must have been a shock to find young Scott Brady trying to top himself in the car park.”
I looked up. “You know Scott?”
“Sure. The guy could be a bit of a dickhead at times but he’s been helping out at the track lately and doin’ a great job. You know, cleaning out the kennel-house, taking money at the gate, grading the track on trial days, stuff like that. Can’t believe he’d want to do ’imself in though. Always seemed happy enough to me.”
This was too good an opportunity to miss. “Did he have a girlfriend?”
“Can’t say I know much about his love life,” Kenny said closing the van door after his two greyhounds had leapt inside and settled down on the mattress for their ride home. “But come to think of it, he did bring a good looking chick to the track a few times. Bit of a hippy by the looks of her. You know, long dress, scarves, a shitload of beads dangling around her neck. Wasn’t really welcome here though. She kept waving this silly placard under our noses—protesting about forcing greyhounds to run, or some such rubbish. Told the silly bird there was no way anyone could make a dog run if he didn’t want to. No jockey on top makin’ him go, is there? But of course, she didn’t listen. That sort never do.”
Yep. That was my sister, Liz. “So…when was the last time you saw her?”
Kenny shrugged. “Hmm…just over a week ago. I remember Bob Germaine having a right go at her. He’s the guy they sent up from Adelaide to stand in for our club secretary who’s in hospital having knee surgery. I was too far away to hear the argument but I can imagine Bob told her to stick her stupid placard where the sun don’t shine. Anyway, I haven’t seen the bird here since.”
Kenny climbed into the front seat of his van, slammed the door and shouted across to Ben who’d parked next to him, ready to follow his mate home. “Hey, bro, lost a couple hundred bucks when that snail Go Rambo beat your two bitches today. Couldn’t believe my eyes. Dog’s normally slower than salary rises. In fact, I reckon my three legged Labrador could beat Go Rambo with his back legs tied together.”
Ben nodded. “Sure didn’t look like the same dog I’d seen racing down the city and finishing so far behind the rest of the field it looked like he was taking part in a separate race.”
“Beats me what’s going on, mate. There’s been some bloody strange results at the country tracks lately,” Ken told us. “Yet, you’ll see, like the other slow dogs that won, Go Rambo’s swab will come back negative.”
Kenny turned the key in his ignition while I slid in beside Ben and we followed the white van around the outside of the track toward the gateway leading onto the main highway.
As we drove through the outside car park I looked across at the little red Beetle partially hidden by the jacaranda bushes. The police were still there, milling around the car, checking inside and out, taking photos, dusting for fingerprints. And as we passed under the arch that rose above the front gate, a big black car pulled in. The car looked very official and I could see two suited men sitting in the front seat. Unsmiling, poker faced.
Looked like the Big Brass had arrived.
19
It was ten o’clock the following morning. Slivers of hesitant sunlight poked around the edges of the clouds as I inhaled a deep breath of cool air, held it for ten, and then blew the air in Ben’s direction. Together, we stood, hovering, outside the Port Augusta hospital, rested and changed—but with no viable plan of action.
“You know, I still think my idea of offering the guard a chocolate, laced with sleeping pills, would work.”
“Yep. Probably would,” Ben replied reaching out with one large hand to gently push hair from my eyes, “but jail time is not featured in our plans for the future, babe.”
Our and future.
Warm prickles scurried across my skin and I had a sudden urge to slip both hands under Ben’s chocolate brown polo shirt, the one that mirrored the color of his eyes, and show him exactly what I thought of those two lovely words together in one sentence.
Down girl! I gulped another deep fortifying breath of cold air and stared at the plain brickwork of the hospital, silently counting windows in an attempt to distract my wanton thoughts. “Well, it’s better than your wacky idea,” I growled. “You know, the one where I do a strip-tease in the passageway while you sneak past the cop on duty into Scott Brady’s room.”
Ben quirked one eyebrow, a cheeky grin crinkling his lips. “You’re probably right. I’d want to stay and watch the show too—see how far you’d go to distract the guard.”
“Duh. As if I’d even start.”
On our approach, the automatic glass doors whirred open allowing a gang of leather clad bikers, most with blackened eyes or white bandages wrapped around their skull, to exit. After sucking one last gasp of fresh air, I followed Ben inside. As soon as the glass doors closed, my irrational fear of hospitals took over—artificial air, sick people, and the chilling smell of strong disinfectant and pain. An ice cold lump settled in my stomach and instant sweat blossomed under my armpits.
Not so Ben. He strode purposely toward the enquiry desk. To keep up with him I had to push my fears aside and lengthen my stride, our footsteps echoing on the hospital issue gray tiled floor as we walked.
“This is madness. Like reporting for an exam on molecular structure without knowing the first thing about physics,” I said. “Ben, we have no plan to get past the uniform on duty outside Scott’s door. We need one.”
“What say we try the legitimate way first? Ask if Scott’s allowed visitors. If not, we’ll play up the fact that you’re the lovely lady who rescued him and you just have to see if the poor man is okay.”
“Hmmm…worth a try,” I agreed. The sooner I spoke to Scott the sooner I’d find Liz.
We followed more signs on walls, and traipsed along what felt like several hundred passageways until we came to the Psychiatric ward.
Now came the tricky part.
“Good morning, I’m Kat McKinley,” I told a stressed looking nurse sitting behind the front desk. “I’ve come to visit Scott Brady.”
“Sorry,” she said, a frown creasing her forehead. “No-one’s allowed in with Mr. Brady. He’s under police guard and suicide watch.”
“Been a hectic morning, has it?” said Ben leaning his frame against the counter and aiming his hundred watt smile at the nurse. “Not that you look flustered. You look cool headed and serene. Like that movie star in Sabrina.”
She didn’t even glance up, just continued pecking away on the computer keyboard.
Ben’s smile fizzled to a lowly 25 watts while I couldn’t prevent a muffled giggle. Benjamin Taylor considered himself the ultimate lady’s man and was always surprised when his obvious flirting didn’t hit pay dirt. However, as his girlfriend, I found his failures quite satisfying to witness.
The other nurse at the desk glanced up from writing a report, caught Ben’s dimming smile and immediately blotted her lipstick between her full lips. “Yes, it has been chaotic this morning—but all part of a day’s work. What can I do for you, sir?”
Ben’s smile lifted its game and zoomed in on nurse number two who was definitely more receptive to his charms. “I’m Ben Taylor and this is Kat McKinley and you’re—” he paused, eyeing the name tag pinned to her starched uniform. “—Belinda Tanner. Well, Belinda, we were hoping to see a patient. Scott Brady.”
With another blot of her lipstick and a large smile for Ben, she turned to me. “Kat McKinley? Aren’t you the lady who pulled Mr. Brady from his car yesterday?”
“Yes, that’s the reason I want to see him,” I said, putting on a long face together with big puppy dog eyes. “I’ve been thinking of the poor man all night.”
