There was a Pink Panther movie on TV, which to Davo was a pretty good finish to a bloody good day. The only sour note was knowing he had to go to the Coroner’s Court tomorrow: still, that was more or less to be expected and unavoidable but it should all be over by lunchtime. He switched the TV off just before eleven and went to bed; despite his excitement Davo slept like a baby.
He was up early and trained as usual the following morning. After breakfast he got changed into some reasonably tidy clothes and a loosefitting windcheater, to try and conceal his muscles, then drove into the Coroner’s Court, pulling up in almost the same spot Dr Connely had when he came in to identify Wayne. It was into spring now though, and Davo, like the weather, was somewhat brighter than Dr Connely had been when he came in.
There were about a dozen or so pensive-looking people milling about in the foyer when Davo hobbled up the stairs on his walking stick and entered the building. Never having been there before he was expecting to find the Coroner’s Court decrepit and dismal like something out of an old Vincent Price movie; instead, he was surprised to find it bright, comfortable and quite modern. Polished wooden panelling shone off the feature brick walls against which rows of healthy looking indoor plants and potted palms faced a number of light brown clothcovered lounge seats spread around the foyer like a huge Ottoman. Spotlessly clean carpet, the same colour as the seats, was laid wall to wall. A large glass door to the right as you entered said ‘General Office’ and another doorway to the left had a slightly incongruous sign saying ‘Cafeteria. Open To The Public.’ Yeah, that’d be right thought Davo, sitting down in one of the comfortable chairs against the wall facing the main doorway. A corridor ran off to his left and right and behind him was a sign, almost next to a doorway, saying Number 2 Court: which was where he had to go. Above him a chrome electric clock, looking something like a ship’s compass, hung off a short stand bolted to the ceiling; it said 10.15 am.
Before long he recognised the two detectives who had visited him in hospital coming up the stairs and through the front door. As they entered the foyer they saw Davo seated against the wall and gave him a brief smile of recognition then walked over to him straightfaced.
‘Hello, Bob,’ said Detective Blackburn, offering his hand. ‘How are you feeling?’ Detective Middleton said and did almost the same thing.
Davo made a bit of a show getting to his feet with the help of the walking stick and returned their firm handshakes. He decided it was no good being surly with the two detectives. Like Dr Connely, he was going to need their sympathy and good faith in the future, and any animosity on his behalf might jeopardise the plan he had in mind.
‘I’m a lot better than I was the last time I saw you thanks.’ Davo made a bit of a gesture with the walking stick. ‘I’m still not the best though.’
‘Yeah I noticed that when we came in,’ said Detective Middleton. ‘It’s not permanent is it?’
Davo gave his shoulders a slight shrug. ‘I’m still getting these dizzy spells now and again. I need it for support.’
‘Shit! That’s no good,’ said Detective Blackburn.
Davo nodded his head and half smiled. ‘Listen, I’m sorry I was a bit shitty when you saw me at St Vincent’s. But Christ I was in a lot of pain. And you know . . . with Wayne getting killed and all that.’
Detective Middleton patted Davo on the shoulder. ‘That’s alright, Bob, we understand. But we had to ask certain questions.’
‘Fair enough,’ nodded Davo.
Detective Blackburn looked at his partner briefly then shuffled the small bundle of documents under his arm. ‘Bob, I hate to tell you this, but we still haven’t got a lead on whoever it was who assaulted you.’
Davo wasn’t at all surprised and in a strange way he was hoping they hadn’t. ‘Yeah,’ he said, trying not to sound too indifferent.
‘Since that Thursday night,’ said Detective Middleton ‘we’ve been involved in another fifteen assaults. That’s not counting all the others going on around us.’
‘We got a bunch of young hoods from Marrickville we thought were the ones that did you over,’ said Detective Blackburn. ‘But it turned out they had nothing to do with it. With no witnesses it’s bloody hard.’
Davo nooded glumly.
‘But don’t get too despondent. And don’t think we’ve given up. We’ll find them sooner or later. It’s just a matter of time, that’s all.’
Davo tapped his walking stick gently against the side of the seat and looked at the floor. ‘Yeah righto,’ he said softly. But there’s no hurry thought Davo.
‘You ever been to one of these sort of hearings before?’ said Detective Middleton. Davo shook his head. ‘They’re fairly straightforward. Shouldn’t take more than about twenty-five minutes.’ Davo nodded silently.
‘Anyway, there’s a bloke here I think you should meet,’ said Detective Blackburn.
He turned and walked over to a man seated on the Ottoman whom Davo had noticed had been watching them for the last minute or so. Detective Blackburn smiled and shook the man’s hand then returned with him and introduced him to Davo.
‘Bob, this is Gary Castlemaine. Gary’s the taxi driver who found you in the lane.’
‘G’day, Gary. Pleased to meet you.’ He had a shy sort of smile and thick wavy dark hair, combed straight back, that seemed to cover half his forehead. Although he had one of those jowly, impassive faces you often see on men who have knocked around a bit, there seemed to be a permanent twinkle in his eyes as he spoke and his handshake had genuine warmth in it.
‘G’day, Bob,’ he said pleasantly. ‘Glad to see you’re up and about alright.’ Then he noticed the walking stick. ‘Sort of,’ he added.
‘Yeah—thanks.’
‘Anyhow, we’ve got to go inside,’ said Detective Middleton. ‘We’ll call you when we want you.’
‘Okay.’ Davo nodded and he and the taxi driver sat down against the wall where Davo had been, facing the entrance.
There was an awkward silence between them for a few moments. Despite the twinkle in his eye the cab driver appeared to fidget nervously as they sat there and it was obvious to Davo he’d have much preferred to be out in the sunshine pushing his taxi than stuck in a depressing Coroner’s Court giving evidence.
‘Thanks for doing what you did for me that night,’ said Davo, eventually.
‘Shit that’s alright, mate,’ said Gary. ‘I’m only sorry I couldn’t have got there a bit earlier. Those blokes really gave it to you and your mate. Youse were a horrible bloody sight when I pulled up I can tell you.’
‘Yeah, I can imagine.’ Davo paused and looked at his hands for a few seconds. ‘You ever been in one of these places before?’
‘Ohh years ago. One of the young blokes in the surf club drowned half full of piss and there was a bit of an inquest. I’m not real keen on courthouses though—or anything to do with coppers at all to tell you the truth.’
‘I can understand that. I’m not over-rapt in them myself.’ Davo watched Gary nervously picking at his nails as his eyes darted around the building and couldn’t help but be slightly amused. You would have thought he was there facing charges instead of just giving evidence. ‘You in a surf club, are you?’ he asked.
‘Yeah, Tamarama. I got a unit just up from the beach.’ Gary turned to Davo. ‘The cops tell me you live in Bondi too.’
‘Yeah, up in Bondi Road. I got a unit myself. Just across from the oval.’
‘That’s a good spot.’
‘Not as good as down at Tamarama with all those sheilas. What do they call it now. Glamorama?’
‘Used to be,’ replied Gary, with a bit of a derisive chuckle. ‘It’s full of poofs in G-strings now.’
Despite his bitterness Davo couldn’t help but like the cab driver. He turned out to be a bit of a chatterbox really with a keen sense of humour and they had quite a few laughs as they sat there with Davo offering to come round one day and shout him a few beers; which Gary willingly accepted. They were chatting
away amiably when Detective Middleton came out of the doorway of Number 2 court.
‘You right, Bob? Gary?’ he said quietly.
They got to their feet and Gary let Davo shuffle in on his walking stick first.
Davo was surprised at the size and brightness of the courtroom with its high ceiling covered in muted fluorescent lighting and flanked with skylights. Detective Middleton led them down several steps, through rows of cloth-covered seats, the same shade as the ones outside, to a chest-high, wooden-topped feature brick wall, where they sat facing several large wooden tables dotted with long-necked microphones. In front of and above these was another short, feature brick wall and a doorway leading to the magistrate’s chamber topped with the symbol of the crown and the words ‘Dieu Et Mon Droit’. Apart from Davo and the taxi driver there were only the two detectives in the room. Before long the magistrate entered and they all stood briefly.
When they sat back down Davo seemed to lose all concentration. He stared blankly up at the magistrate, a floridfaced balding man in his sixties wearing hornrimmed glasses and a dark blue suit, and thought how glad he would be when it was all over—it was suddenly all so boring. A movement in a window set in the wall to his right caught his eye and a female court monitor set the reel to reel tape recorders in motion: as they all began to give evidence Davo settled back into his seat and thought about what he was going to cook for tea that night.
The two detectives, all very po-faced and efficient, gave their evidence first—which didn’t seem like a great deal—then they read Davo’s statement and that was about it. Next up was the taxi driver. As he spoke, with eyes rolling and great hand gesticulations, he seemed to give the impression he was relating a story to his mates in the pub or down at the surf club, rather than giving evidence in a sombre courtroom. Davo thought he could see the magistrate having trouble trying to keep a straight face on more than one occasion—if there wasn’t a homicide involved the old beak would probably have burst out laughing.
Then it was Davo’s turn. He shuffled over to the microphone and what could he say. I went to a rock concert your worship with a friend, got beaten up walking back to the car and woke up in hospital a couple of days later to find out my friend was dead. Sorry, I can’t identify anybody but it was too dark. Davo sat back down with the whole procedure still going over his head.
Detectives Blackburn and Middleton got back up to give some more brief evidence. The magistrate pontificated sagely for a few moments then droned on about something or other, before finally announcing that the death of one Wayne Howard St Peters was caused through an assault by person or persons unknown. It was still an open case. The court monitor turned off the tape recorders, the court rose and the magistrate disappeared back out the door into his chambers; and a minute or two later Davo was standing back in the foyer with Gary and the two detectives.
It was patently obvious from the way the cab driver was still fidgeting around and the faraway look in his eyes that he was more than keen to get out of the place.
‘Well look fellahs,’ he said, glancing uncomfortably at the two detectives. ‘I wouldn’t mind gettin’ crackin’ if it’s all the same to you.’
‘Yeah go on, Gary, you’re sweet,’ said Detective Blackburn. ‘Thanks for coming in.’
The taxi driver shook hands once more with Davo, wished him all the best and told him to give him a ring some time and they’d have a beer together, then after a brief goodbye to the others quickly slipped out the front doorway.
Detective Middleton watched him disappear down the steps then turned to Davo. ‘Well, Bob’ he said, a little awkwardly. ‘You heard what the beak said. It’s still an open case. We’ll find them—eventually.’
‘Yeah,’ replied Davo, trying not to sound too disinterested. ‘I hope you do. Even if it’s only for Wayne’s sake.’
‘Something will turn up mate,’ said Detective Blackburn. ‘It always does. You’d be surprised.’
Davo nodded. ‘Yeah, something could turn up . . . you never know.’ Davo felt like bursting out into maniacal laughter but he managed to keep his feelings bottled up inside him. Yeah, something’ll turn up alright fellahs he thought. You can bet your life on that. ‘Anyway,’ he said, tapping the side of his foot with his walking stick. ‘If it’s all the same to you I might get going myself. This has brought back a lot of unpleasant memories today.’ He offered the two detectives his hand.
‘Okay, Bob,’ said Detective Blackburn, with a quick shake. ‘If ever you want to get in touch with us about anything, just give us a call. We’re at Darlinghurst now too.’
‘Yeah. You know who to ask for,’ said Detective Middleton.
‘Okay, thanks. I’ll keep it in mind. Anyway, I appreciate your help. I’ll see you again.’
‘Okay, Bob. Take care.’
The two detectives watched Davo hobble down the front steps of the courthouse through the glass doors and slowly cross busy Parramatta Road to his car.
‘Poor bastard,’ said Detective Blackburn. ‘I still can’t help but feel sorry for him.’
‘Yeah, I know what you mean,’ replied his partner. ‘He doesn’t seem like a bad bloke, does he?’
‘Hey what about that bloody cab driver,’ chuckled Detective Blackburn.
‘Yeah.’ Detective Middleton’s face broke into a grin. ‘Didn’t he like to tell it like it is. I thought for a minute there old Anesbury was going to piss his pants.’
‘Anyway. What do you reckon we ought to do now?’
Detective Middleton took in a deep breath. ‘I reckon a middy of Old would go down well.’
‘I reckon a schooner would go down even better.’
‘I reckon you’re right.’ Detective Middleton looked at his watch. ‘Why don’t we have a steak at the Clock and be done with it.’
‘You’ve got me. I’m starving.
While the two detectives were enjoying their steaks and beers at the Clock Hotel in Surry Hills Davo was sitting in his kitchen, sullenly brooding over a cup of coffee. What he’d offhandedly said to the two detectives earlier, about the day bringing back unpleasant memories for him, didn’t begin to sink in until he was driving home. He started stewing in the car and by the time he walked in the front door of his unit he was almost ropeable.
Death caused through an assault by person or persons unknown. Those last words from the magistrate kept echoing around inside his head and stuck in his throat, making him want to spit them out like they were a bad taste. And what did those two wombat coppers say. ‘We’ve got nothing yet—but something will turn up.’ Yeah. Pig’s arse. I’ll have a beard down to my bloody knees before those two turn anything up he spat.
Davo scowled into his coffee and reflected on that Saturday he had come to in the hospital, and the excruciating almost unbelievable pain he was in like his head was going to burst open. And although the human mind doesn’t retain the actual memory of the pain itself Davo knew how he had felt and how he screamed for the nurse. And he remembered how he felt when the doctor told him Wayne was dead; his emotions didn’t show but inside he was burning up.
Poor bloody Wayne. Harmless goodlooking gay hairdresser, Wayne St Peters. Never done the wrong thing or said a bad word about anybody in his whole bloody life; probably done more favours for people than anyone else you could name. And what did he get for his troubles; kicked to death in a dirty shitty alley for doing someone another favour: shouting a friend to a rock concert. Jesus Christ.
Davo kept brooding sourly into his cup then shifted his gaze across to the loungeroom where he’d left the gloves sitting on the coffee table. He stared at them for a few moments and then back at his hands which he unconsciously formed into fists; a half smile began to tug at the corners of his mouth, a very thin and very bitter half smile.
Wednesday today. Thursday tomorrow. He shifted his eyes to a large Life Be In It calendar he had taped down one side of the fridge. Thursday tomorrow. Almost three months to the day since Wayne was killed and those goons had
put him in hospital; and possibly, if it hadn’t been for that cab driver pulling up, he could have finished up the same way. Davo’s eyes went back to the gloves sitting on the coffee table. He looked thoughtfully at them for a few moments then got up, dropped his empty cup in the sink and moved across to the sliding glass window. He stood staring out at the park with his hands folded across his chest, the bitter half smile still tugging at the corners of his mouth.
He was certainly fit enough now, fitter and stronger than he’d ever been in his life and probably fitter than a lot of athletes and first grade footballers running around today. He’d proved he could fight by the devastating way he’d crushed those two fighters in town in one-on-one situations; and he’d also proved his tolerance to pain was high. Then there were his reflexes, which by some strange twist due to the brain damage he’d sustained, were nothing short of phenomenal. And if that wasn’t enough there were those gloves and he’d seen the almost horrifying damage they could do. What more did he need?
He turned, walked back into the loungeroom, picked the gloves up off the coffee table and put them on, then closed his fists and looked at them packed snugly into the deadly metal-studded leather. Before long the bitter smile on his face had turned into a diabolical evil grin. It was a Thursday night when Wayne had got killed and he was hospitalised. What better than to start his vendetta on a Thursday night. Yeah, why not. The sinister grin on his face broadened as once again the words of that old Doors song started echoing around his mind.
The time to hesitate is through.
No time to wallow in the mire.
Come on baby light my fire.
Yeah bugger it. Tomorrow night he and the gloves would get their first taste of blood. Tomorrow night it would start.
There was a smoky noisy congested surge of cars, buses and people all heading slowly through the neon haze towards Taylor Square when Davo pulled up for the traffic lights at South Dowling and Oxford Streets at 11.30 the following, still slightly humid, Thursday night. He stared expressionlessly out the windscreen at the traffic around him while he waited for the lights to change and when they did hung a sharp left luckily managing to find a parking spot just a few yards up from the old Greek theatre.
Davo's Little Something Page 21
