‘Where would Sal keep Chloe?’ Aurora stared intently at the fish in the tank, swimming around the sunken galleon. ‘Hang on a sec, what about Frank’s boat?’
‘Frank’s boat.’ I repeated. ‘Frank’s boat.’ Suddenly everything fell into place, ‘Oh my god, she’s been trying to tell me.’
‘What are you talking about?’
‘When I talked to her on the phone she kept nattering on about the videos she’d been watching, Titanic, Speed 2, Dead Calm. They’ve all got boats in them. But how does Blue get videos and takeaway?’
‘Those big cruisers have dinghies with outboards,’ said Mick. ‘They’re probably anchored close to the marina and the guy locks her in and motors out.’
‘Where’s Frank’s boat moored?’ I asked. ‘And what’s its name?’
‘St Kilda marina,’ Aurora said, ‘but I don’t know what it’s called.’
‘Is there anyone who does?’
‘A few of the girls, I think.’
‘Call them up.’ I was getting manic, about to leap up and go down to the marina that second.
‘Darl, it’s nearly five am and you need some sleep.
We can’t do anything until morning anyway.’ She poured me another whisky. ‘Want some Vegemite toast?’
I nodded, she went into the kitchen and I lay down with my head on Mick’s lap. He stroked my hair and I closed my eyes, just to rest them for a second, and I was out for the count.
I woke up at ten in Mick’s bed, with all my clothes on. There was a turn-up for the books. Rain fell on the tin roof and although I knew I had to leap up and get to the marina I just wanted to stay for a few more seconds, arm around him, breathing him in.
He was naked, back to me, and I stroked his shoulder, tracing tattoos with my fingertips. The Medusa had snakes for hair, wings sprouting from her back and a whip in her hand. The tattoo was shinier than the others, the outline precise. I kissed his back. The skin was warm, hot almost. I slid my hand from his shoulder to his hips and down along the hipbone. I lightly stroked his cock.
Rock hard and velvet soft, all at the same time. A tingling started between my legs.
‘You awake?’ I whispered.
No reply. I pushed myself into the curve of his spine, cupped his ball s in my hand, then went back to his hard-on, moving my hand up and down until it grew bigger and started to throb. He had at least eight inches down there, and thick, too. I was no size queen but it was nice every once in a while, to feel so completely filled up. Mick rolled on his back, still pretending to be asleep. I couldn’t stand it anymore, enough of this hand job shit. I took off my clothes and climbed on top of him, rubbing the head of his penis on my clit. His eyes were still closed but the corners of his mouth turned up in a smile.
Afterwards Mick kissed me. ‘You’re one hell of a fuck, girl.’
‘I try,’ I said, modestly.
‘How am I going to live without you when I move back up north?’
‘You’re moving?’
‘I’ve been here three months. That’s a long time for me to live anywhere, especially the city. I need wide open spaces, I miss my dog.’
‘Enough with the cowboy shit.’
‘It’s true,’ he said. ‘Why don’t you come with me?’
‘So you can lock me up in some hillbilly shack, cooking you grits and providing sex on demand?’
‘Yep.’
‘What about the band?’ I asked.
‘Guitarists are pretty thick on the ground around here,’ he said. ‘Can’t walk down the milk bar without tripping over about five of them.’
He wasn’t wrong. ‘Come on,’ I said, ‘let’s find this boat.’ Aurora was padding around the kitchen in a leopard-skin robe, making coffee. ‘I stayed in Betty’s room,’ she explained.
‘Still out for the count?’
‘Yeah, she’ll sleep for a couple of days at least, wake up not knowing where she is. Guess what? I rang Dakota. Boat’s called the “Midnight Lady”.’
‘Foxy name,’ I said.
After coffee and showers we squeezed into the cab of the Ute and Mick drove through the rain to St Kilda, windscreen wipers squeaking, nobody saying much.
Punt Road was grey and sodden. Water pooled in gutters and the stretch between Toorak and Commercial roads was a cluster of wet cars and red tail-lights. I checked the rearview mirror the whole way, hardly able to remember a time when I wasn’t watching my back.
Mick rolled into the marina car park and I left him and Aurora and ran to Reg’s shed. He sat at his desk, reading a Tom Clancy novel.
‘Hi, Reg, remember me?’
He looked up. ‘The detective Sheila. You want to go sailing today?’
‘No, I need you to help me out again. Do you know a boat moored here called the “Midnight Lady”?’
He nodded. “Yeah, but I haven’t seen her around for awhile. Why? Has it got something to do with the murder?’
‘Maybe. Is there any way you can find out where it is?’
‘I could take you over to see the guy in the office. He might know.’
‘Look, Reg,’ I said, ‘I’ll level with you. A friend of mine’s been kidnapped and I think she’s on that boat.
I can’t call the police, OK? The man who took her has people on the inside. And I don’t want anyone around here tipping him off that I know where she is.’
Reg nodded slowly and I continued: ‘The guy who’s keeping watch over her has to come in now and again to get supplies, probably on a small powerboat. Or maybe he’s moored at another marina. I don’t know. He’s red haired, chunky, looks like an ex league player. I’d be grateful if you could ask around and keep an eye out for him. Inconspicuously. Can you do that for me?’
‘I know,’ he said, ‘I’ll say someone inquired about buying the boat. Happens all the time.’
‘Good one, Reg. Here’s my mobile number. Soon as you find anything, give me a call. Anytime, OK?’
‘Sure thing.’
I ran back to the car, large raindrops splotching my shoulders. I told Mick and Aurora what had happened and that I’d call them as soon as Reg called me and we’d work out a new plan. We drove Aurora back to her serviced apartment in South Yarra then Mick took me home and we kissed on the front seat, steaming up the windows. I loved the way he held my face when he kissed me, twining his fingers in my hair, and how it gave him an instant hard-on.
‘Can I come up?’ he whispered hoarsely.
I wanted that more than anything. I had visions of a bottle of red and rainy-day sex on the lounge-room carpet.
‘No, I need Sal to approach me, and that’s not going to happen with you here.’
‘What about later?’
‘I’ve got a debriefing with Alex at the police station at seven, but I’ll call you after that, OK?’
I showered and changed into a pair of cords and an old long-sleeved man’s shirt and cleaned the house to use up excess sexual energy. Didn’t work. The rain fell steadily, hitting the leaves of the oak trees and gurgling down gutters. I lit some Nag Champa incense, a hangover from my hippy upbringing, and put on Chet Baker, ‘My Funny Valentine’. It made me think of Mick.
Everything did. I cooked scrambled eggs, painted my nails, and willed Reg to call and Sal to show up. Neither happened.
I grabbed an umbrella and walked to the Seven Eleven to get the paper and some plastic cheese. The pm edition of the Herald Sun was out and Farquhar made the front page: TOP COP IN BLACKMAIL BUST.
Details were sketchy and I was relieved my name hadn’t been mentioned. Sal didn’t pull up next to me on my way home. Reg didn’t call. I wanted to do something but I couldn’t think what. I ended up watching daytime TV.
At six thirty I caught the bus to St Kilda then the 16 tram to the debriefing. I’d dressed straight, black pants, striped blouse. It had stopped raining but was still overcast and the footpaths were covered with wet leaves. I arrived a little before seven and asked for Alex. A moment later he was by my side, looking
effortlessly stylish and smelling nice.
‘Come on’, he said, leading me out of the station,
‘let’s go debrief.’
‘Where?’
‘I have a special place.’
His special place turned out to be Donovan’s restaurant, right on the beach where Frank’s body washed up. Nice touch. We sat at a table for two overlooking the bay and Alex ordered Veuve Cliquot and a dozen oysters natural from a waiter who might have been a male model. The champagne arrived just as the setting sun broke through cloud cover and the sky was streaked pink and gold.
It was beautiful, but my thoughts were with Chloe.
She was out there somewhere, and in danger despite the foot massages and action videos. I was perturbed by the fact that Sal hadn’t contacted me, but comforted in the knowledge she had Blue wrapped around her little finger. I kept my mobile in my pants pocket, set to vibrate so I wouldn’t miss anything if Reg rang.
We clinked glasses.
‘What about the debriefing?’ I asked.
He shrugged. ‘We had that this morning and being a civilian you don’t get to go. I wanted to celebrate the bust and it’s no fun going out to dinner on your own.’
‘You tricked me.’
‘It’s my treat.’
‘What if I order lobster?’
‘You can do what you want as long as you don’t start dancing on tables.’
The snake-hipped waiter reappeared with the oysters.
I tipped one in my mouth, chewed once to release the salty juice and swallowed. Oral sex on a half shell.
‘So you’re telling me you had no one else to go out to dinner with?’
‘I suppose there’s one person I could’ve asked, but she’s working.’
I remembered how the blond cop, Detective McCullers, had smiled at him. Interesting.
‘How’d the search go?’ I asked.
He leaned back in his chair and sipped champagne.
‘Do we have to talk shop?’
I kicked him under the table. ‘Give it up, you bastard, I helped you nail the prick.’
‘We found cash, guns, drugs, and video footage in the storage shed,’ he said. ‘And something interesting in the house.’
I went to kick him again but he grabbed my ankle, put my foot on his lap and started massaging my calf. He had a nice touch.
‘What?’
He pretended to study the menu. ‘You know the duck here is very good.’
‘Alex . . .’
He put it down and smiled. ‘We found a bloody knife in a plastic zip-lock bag. We think it’s the same one used to kill Parisi.’
Chapter Twenty-five
I pulled my leg away. ‘What?’
‘The blood’s still being DNA tested but the blade’s consistent with the murder weapon.’
‘Where did you find it?’
‘Stashed under his mattress, of all places.’
‘Why would he keep the knife in his house? Why would he keep it at all?’
‘Maybe he wanted to plant it on someone. Who knows? He’s an arrogant prick, refuses to answer any questions, says none of the stuff we found belongs to him and that we planted the knife. Hey, if it does turn out to be Frank’s blood, you’re out of a job with the Parisi family.’
My mind was racing. I had to tell Sal. The case was solved and he would have to let Chloe go. Unless what Aurora had said was right. Tying up loose ends. The more I thought about it the more it made sense.
I willed Reg to call but he was probably tucked up in bed with a cup of hot cocoa. I wanted to tell Alex but I was too paranoid. Sal had people everywhere and I suspected the waiters, the couple at the next table, and maybe even the cop across from me with his nice clothes and fancy restaurants. I gulped my champagne and he refilled my glass.
‘Are you OK?’ he asked. ‘You seem a little distracted.’
‘I’m fine,’ I said. ‘Let’s order.’
Alex had the duck, I ordered a steak and we shared a bottle of Mornington Peninsula pinot noir. Stress has no effect on my appetite and I motored through my meal. The meat was aged, cooked medium rare and my knife slid through it like it was butter. In no time I was mopping up the sauce with the last of my celeriac mash.
‘Nice to see a girl with a healthy appetite,’ Alex said.
We weren’t really flirting. Well, maybe just a little bit.
After dinner we moved to the lounge area and started on cognac. Donovan’s wasn’t kitted out like your usual stuffy restaurant, it was done up like a friend’s beach house, if your friend lived at Palm Beach and regularly appeared in Vogue Living.
I sank back into the designer couch and cradled my drink. This was the life. After all this shit with Sal was over I was going to stop hanging out in grotty pubs filled with freaks and become, like, sophisticated.
Alex was telling me I should apply for the force again, that he would put in a good word. I told him I didn’t know if I could handle the authority, the rigid procedure and the police culture. He said PI work was a mug’s game and I was too good to be a stripper. I told him to get fucked and he said he loved it when I talked dirty.
Ah, oysters.
‘I’ve got something for you.’ Alex reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a sheaf of photocopied paper, handed it to me and studied my face for a reaction.
It was the autopsy report. ‘Oh my god,’ I said, ‘I love you.’ I leaned over the couch, kissed him on the cheek and spilled cognac on my leg.
‘It goes without saying you didn’t get it from me.’
I held the report under the nearest designer down-light. A lot of the document used medical terminology but I’d read enough forensic thrillers to work out that a subdural hematoma meant he’d been whacked on the head and a severed aorta was a sure bet he’d been stabbed in the heart. The knife had been long and thin and the exact make was inconclusive. Bruising and abrasions on his wrists and ankles showed he’d been restrained by rope. High levels of cocaine were found in his bloodstream—who would’ve guessed?—and his last meal had been a chicken souvlaki with garlic sauce, eaten approximately an hour before death. A number of hairs were found on his clothes and there were traces of two different kinds of lipstick on his penis, which had obviously not been cut off. Bloody rumours. The pathologist had also found a multitude of fibres and a couple of dog hairs. Frank’s eye had been eaten by an unidentified sea creature that had slipped through a hole in his garbage bag shroud.
‘Bit of a waste of time if it turns out to be Farquhar,’ he said. ‘Although I think it’s cute how you’re still trying to solve a murder case, kind of like a raunchy Nancy Drew . . .’
‘Fuck up and die.’ I gave him the death stare. ‘And get me another one of these cognacs, I’m running low.’
When my fresh glass arrived I took a sip and studied Alex over the rim. He smiled back at me. He was the total opposite of Mick, sleek, sophisticated, getting a little soft around the edges. In ten years he would be fat around the middle with receding hair but right now . . .
‘You never told me what happened when you went to that illegal brothel with Farquhar.’ I smiled sweetly and leaned in close.
Alex actually blushed. ‘I was undercover.’
‘Was it just rub ’n’ tug or did you get some extras?’
‘What goes on in the field stays in the field.’ Alex loosened his tie. I may have had my hand on his leg.
Then someone grabbed my upper arm.
‘Don’t look like a fucking debriefing to me.’
Mick stood over us, looking huge and out of place with his tattoos and white singlet. My heart beat hard and a wave of sobriety crashed down on me.
‘Calm down,’ I half whispered. ‘We’re just talking about the case. He’s been showing me the autopsy report.’
‘Don’t bullshit me. I’ve been watching you for the last two hours. I followed you from the cop shop. A nice dinner and then a fuck, hey?’
‘Mick . . .’ I noticed waiters and other
diners glancing over with worried looks. Alex shook his head, ‘Get your life together.’ He got up and went to the bar to pay the bill.
‘Where do you think you’re going?’ Mick headed after him but I grabbed his arm and dragged him out of the restaurant to the footpath. He loomed over me, eyes black and features twisted with rage.
‘You lied to me.’ He grabbed my upper arm and dug his fingers in. ‘You didn’t tell me you were going on a fucking date.’
‘I didn’t—’ I started to explain and then I just gave up. ‘Fuck it, Mick, I’m not going to do this.’ I shook him off and started walking away and he grabbed me and spun me around.
‘Don’t you fucking walk away from me.’ His voice was a roar, his Aussie accent broader than usual. His hand hurt my shoulder and I tried to pull away.
‘Fuck off,’ I said, and his other hand flew up to my face and hit me on the cheek and the side of my eye.
It was halfway between a slap and a punch, but it hurt.
My cheek throbbed and stung. Nobody had ever hit me before—my mum hadn’t believed in smacking. I held my palm to my face and my eyes burned with tears.
Stylish people hurried past, careful not to make eye contact. The women had perfect waterfalls of blond hair and the men wore European shoes. I felt ashamed. Mick let go of my arm and I ran across the road. The back door opened on a dark sedan and I got in. Sal, finally.
As we pulled out into the traffic I looked out the rear window. Mick was smoking a cigarette, watching me go.
If Sal had witnessed the scene with Mick he didn’t say anything.
‘I’ve got your proof,’ I said, and handed him the autopsy report. ‘They found a knife that matches in Farquhar’s place. They’ll know for sure if it’s Frank’s blood by tomorrow and it’ll be in the paper, on the news.’
Sal flicked through the report and nodded. ‘You’ve done well,’ he said.
‘How will you get your revenge if Farquhar’s in protective custody?’ I asked. Sal smiled. ‘There are ways.’
‘So you have to let go of Chloe, right?’
‘As soon as I see Richard Farquhar is charged with the murder I’ll let her go.’
Simone Kirsch 01 - Peepshow Page 16
