She checked her voice mail. No message from Trevor Dawson.
Late afternoon, she drove to Strawberry Hills police station and asked for Angie at the security desk. She was reading a poster about clandestine laboratories when she heard someone approaching. But it wasn’t Angie. Bruno Gross, who seemed to spend more time on the job now that he was off sick, had walked out of the lift and was heading for the exit. Gemma could see how his good looks were already being subsumed by extra flesh around his jaw line.
‘I want to talk to you, Bruno,’ she said, catching him up. He looked at her as if she was something he’d found floating under a wharf. ‘I’ve been talking to Jim Buisman, about why he took you off the original investigation into Amy Bernhard’s disappearance.’
Bruno barely paused in his stride. ‘I have nothing to say to you,’ he said.
‘Jim Buisman mentioned a situation,’ she said. ‘What situation would that have been?’
That stopped him and he swung around on her; she felt the old anger, the old hurt.
‘That you’re a bloody lazy incompetent officer,’ she continued, ‘who gets other people to do all the work and then takes all the credit?’
‘Get off the premises!’ he snarled. ‘You have no business here.’
She looked past him to see Angie approaching. ‘I’m here to see my friend,’ said Gemma. ‘I have every right.’
But straightaway she saw that something was wrong. Angie’s face, usually alive with her ironic smile, was stern. Bruno gave them both a look and pushed his way outside.
Gemma turned to her friend. ‘Angie!’ she said. ‘What is it?’
Angie turned in silence, called back the lift, which opened its doors immediately, and stepped inside. Gemma followed. Once they were inside, her face white with anger, Angie hissed, ‘What’s going on, Gemma? What are you up to?’
‘What are you talking about?’ Gemma had been on the receiving end of Angie’s infamous temper once or twice before and had never forgotten it. ‘Calm down and tell me what you mean.’
‘You’ve got calls out to people. Diane Hayworth. Lots of others. Urgently wanting Trevor Dawson. And just now Tracey Lee rang and mentioned it.’
Gemma’s heart sank.
‘Why?’
Gemma tried desperately to decide what to say. ‘Angie, I—’
‘What the hell’s going on?’
‘I’ve been trying to contact him because I didn’t want it to be like this.’
‘Like what? I don’t give a fuck how you wanted it to be. I want you to tell me what’s going on!’
The lift doors opened but neither of them moved. Angie stood glaring at her and Gemma, not sure how best to proceed, stood mute. The doors closed and the lift descended, taking them back to the ground floor again. A smiling junior stepped in, then, picking up the atmosphere, looked away, the three of them standing in stony silence. When the lift doors opened and the junior stepped out, Gemma decided to meet Angie head on.
‘Okay,’ she said as the doors closed again. ‘I hate to have to tell you like this. But I saw your friend Trevor on Saturday. Bumped into him at Kings Cross.’
Angie frowned, the anger mixing with bewilderment. ‘Trevor? He’s not even in Sydney,’ she started to say. ‘He’s down in Goulburn at the Academy. Training course. You couldn’t have seen him.’
‘I saw him with a woman and three kids. At the Cross. Sharing ice-creams. A family group.’
‘No!’ Angie cried. ‘That’s not possible! There’s some mistake.’
Gemma felt like Judas and put a hand on her friend’s arm. ‘I’m so sorry, Ange.’
Angie pulled her arm away. ‘But he’s at the Academy. He rang me just a while ago.’
Gemma didn’t press it.
‘Those calls you had out for him,’ Angie started.
‘He should face up to you and tell you himself. I was going to give him twenty-four hours. I asked a couple of people where he might be.’
A long silence followed; in it the gathering force of a tsunami, or the pre-quake rumblings of the earth before eruption. ‘You said he was with a woman and three kids?’
Gemma nodded. She felt terrible.
‘The bastard!’ Angie’s eyes blazed in a face pale with shock.
‘I hate being the one to tell you,’ said Gemma.
‘The dirty low-down sleazy mongrel bastard!’ Angie whispered. ‘And you knew! You knew this morning! When we were talking on the phone!’
Gemma said nothing. What could she say?
‘How could you do that? Know about this and not say anything? It makes me feel like an idiot!’
‘I wanted to hear his side. See if I’d made some terrible mistake. Maybe he was just having an access visit with his kids. Maybe the woman was his sister. But I knew really—once I saw him kissing her.’
Angie looked stricken. ‘And you’re sure it was him?’
Gemma nodded. ‘It was Trevor Dawson. He kissed the woman and wiped the face of the little kid. Everything screamed “highly married” to me.’
Angie slumped against the side of the lift and her eyes filled. ‘I can’t believe it,’ she said. ‘I’ve done it again!’
‘You haven’t done anything. He’s the one who’s behaved like a shit.’
‘Why didn’t I see it? I’m supposed to be able to read people.’
‘When the writing’s too close, you can’t read it.’ As Gemma spoke, she sensed a deep warning, right through her cells, that these words also applied to her. Something, someone was too close. Who? What? Gently, she patted Angie’s arm again. ‘Come on. Let’s get out of here. You need some fresh air.’
In the bar on the corner, Gemma watched while Angie had a fast scotch on the rocks. ‘Why?’ Angie’s voice was shaky. ‘How come I always end up like this? Why are the men I get involved with always bastards?’
Gemma took a swig from her brandy. ‘You’re asking me? I’m hardly a shining example of sensible relating with the opposite sex.’ Memories of her misbehaviour with Mike and Steve’s shocked voice on her mobile caused her to wince afresh. ‘Maybe you didn’t gather enough intelligence first?’
Angie looked at her, eyes wide. ‘Did you? When you got involved with Steve?’
Gemma thought about that. ‘I don’t think so.’
‘Steve isn’t a bastard. He loves you,’ said Angie.
‘Maybe he did once. But he’s sure got over that now.’
Maybe he did have other women, she thought. All over the state. All those years of jobs that took him away. All that undercover work. No questions allowed. Perfect cover for the worst infidelity. These were thoughts Gemma almost never permitted herself. Maybe Steve was just like Trevor Dawson. In fact, maybe he was just a younger, wilder version of her own father. Maybe there were children out there in New South Wales who had Steve as the absent father. Her dismal thoughts were interrupted by Angie banging her head on the bar like a crazy woman. The barman looked over briefly. Nothing broken and he was used to such sights, so he speedily went back to polishing and stacking clean glasses in shiny metal trays.
‘It’s okay,’ Gemma called out to him. ‘It’s yoga.’
Angie lifted her head to stare gloomily at her drink, tapping her forehead. ‘Have I got a sign in lights on my head that says “I am an idiot—have a go”?’
‘Of course not. Stop blaming yourself.’ Gemma ordered Angie another scotch.
Angie picked up the new drink and rattled the ice. She flashed a look at Gemma, tears in her eyes. ‘I’m sorry about—you know—jumping down your neck just then. I suspected something was going on. And when I get frightened I go for the jugular.’
‘I know. What else are friends for?’
Angie finished her drink and blew her nose. ‘I feel like getting completely wasted.’<
br />
‘Don’t. We’ve got work to do.’
‘I want revenge. I want to kill him. I want to knock over a bottle of scotch and get totalled.’
‘I advise two out of three. Let’s go back and make plans.’
‘I want his wife to know as well. What sort of prick he is.’
‘She will. Come on, let’s go.’
‘But what about his kids?’ Angie was concerned. ‘He’s got little kids.’
‘They know everything already. Kids might not know the details of it, but they know somewhere that their father is dishonest.’
‘But if I out him, I’ll be a marriage wrecker!’
‘You’re not married, remember? He is. Now come on.’
Angie put her head down on the bar again. ‘I feel like howling. I thought he really cared about me.’ She knocked a nearby stool over and it crashed to the floor. ‘No one’s ever written poetry to me before.’
‘He probably does care for you,’ said Gemma. ‘It’s just that he’s got a wife.’
‘I believed him. I thought he was going down to the Academy to fight terrorism.’
‘He probably was. Some of the time.’
‘All the time he’s running home to his wife!’ She bashed the bar. ‘I feel so humiliated!’
‘Maybe you should take the rest of the day off. Maybe I shouldn’t be pushing you back to work.’
‘No, you’re right. I should go back. Because if I did go home, I’d get drunk and God knows what I might do then.’
‘Come home with me. Stay over tonight. You’ll feel better in the morning,’ said Gemma.
‘Everyone must have known,’ Angie wailed. ‘People are probably laughing at me.’
‘Don’t be so paranoid. No one’s laughing at you.’
Angie pulled herself up. ‘I want to kill him.’
‘So you said. I’ll bet he’s been getting away with this for years.’
Angie stared at her. ‘You’re suggesting I’m not the first?’
Gemma didn’t have to answer.
‘Of course I’m not.’ Angie clutched the bar stool. ‘We know about serial offenders. Whatever works for them they keep using. Of course there’d be other girlfriends!’ She paused. ‘And he probably photocopies his poems.’
‘Those poems,’ Gemma began.
‘What about them?’
‘I feel sure he copied them from other poets. The good lines, I mean. The rest was crap.’
‘Second-hand poetry!’ Angie wailed. ‘Second-hand girlfriend. He’s got a wife! Give me a good VMO any day. They seem quite straightforward compared to the likes of Trevor Dawson. At least you know what you’re getting.’
Gemma gathered up her belongings.
‘I’ll bet he used the same poems on his wife.’ Angie slumped over again, resting her head on her arms like a tired child. ‘I can’t believe I’ve been so bloody stupid.’
‘Stop dumping on yourself. You know how charming psychopaths can be. It’s their job to con!’
‘Next time, I swear I’ll employ you to do a probity check. From now on, if I ever so much as mention another man’s name, you’re to remind me that I’ve pre-ordered a probity check on him.’ She paused. ‘Not that it’s very bloody likely I’ll ever be interested in another man!’ She sat up straight again. ‘How am I supposed to focus on work now?’
‘You will because you’re a pro,’ said Gemma.
Angie groaned.
‘Those multiple remains?’ Gemma said. ‘Those teeth? Any more on those?’
‘Francie called to say it’s going to take a while. Reckons it’s a charnel house. She’s got half the Academy out there doing a fingertip search. They’ve found a whole lot of really tiny grave sites—very small sizes.’
Gemma felt sick at heart. ‘God. Is it kids?’
‘Francie couldn’t say for sure. She says she’s never seen anything like this.’ Angie paused. ‘But it could be some parent’s idea of family planning.’
Finally, she stood up, grabbing her mobile and ordering a bottle of scotch from the barman. ‘Wait here,’ she said to Gemma. ‘I’m going back to my office to pick up some gear. Where’s your car?’
‘Why?’
‘I’m going to get some of those VMO files for you. You can take the fucking things! Why am I the only one who worries about the rules? Take them and read them and brief me if there’s anything there. I’ve got enough work to keep me going for fifty years without reading through all those!’
They left the pub and parted company, Gemma to wait for what seemed a long time in her car before Angie reappeared carrying two large kit bags. Gemma unlocked the back door and Angie heaved them into the back seat.
Gemma studied her friend, seeing how hurt she was, how she was fighting tears. ‘I wish there was something I could do or say to make things better for you.’
‘For goodness sake, don’t be kind to me,’ said Angie, her voice wavering. ‘I need to stay pissed off and furious.’
There was nothing anyone could do, Gemma knew. The only thing that helped this sort of thing was the passage of a certain amount of time. Angie climbed into the front seat, a sheaf of printed out emails in her hand. ‘Listen to this,’ she said. ‘This is from the message board on the girls’ website. Tracey Lee sent them across.’
She started reading. ‘Hi Aymée and Tasmée, i really like your webpage. you are funny and cute. i love the way you put down all those jerks who email you and put their emails up as “dickhead of the week”. i really love girls like you who put men down all the time. It is sooo creative . . . you can put me down any time and call me anything you like . . . so thanks for everything you’ve done for me tonight . . . if you don’t know what that means, there’s a whole pile of used tissues beside my bed that weren’t there until I saw you in your bedroom. ps you’re both real hot.’
Angie looked up. The colour had come back to her face, although her eyes were still full of unshed tears. ‘Is that what young girls want? Boys wanking over them?’
‘How did Amy answer?’ Gemma waited while Angie flicked through the emails, scanning them briefly.
‘She just got nastier. Maybe if you just stopped wanking all over your keyboard you might get a real girlfriend and stop bothering me. Or better still, the keyboard might blow up and electrocute you.
‘And this is the first writer three emails later: You poor little fat shit, here’s me trying to be nice to you but you can’t recognise niceness when you meet it and your fake tan and your fake life and fake ideas just piss me off you and your phoney girlfriend should get a life. you haven’t got a clue about anything. grow up you are so stupid i will show you how to really jam a site with like 50 web masters with cable modems STOP PLAYING WITH YOUR OWN SHIT or I might come round and fix you up real good.’
Angie looked at Gemma again. ‘I should learn some of these lines,’ she said. ‘Use them on Trevor. I’d like to jam his site all right.’
‘What happened to funny and cute?’ Gemma asked. Angie handed her some pages and she looked through them.
‘All the replies start off being pleasant and interested in finding the girls’ website,’ Gemma observed. ‘But then they start getting sexual and suggestive, the girls respond with insults, and the boys come back with abuse. And so it goes on until the end.’
Angie leaned back in the seat. ‘Sounds like most relationships I know.’
Gemma considered. ‘I’m remembering something Kit said to me. About relationships.’
‘Don’t. I don’t want to hear it.’
‘Okay, okay.’
‘Do you think the girls might have angered someone so much that this person decided to track them down?’ Angie said. ‘First Amy then Tasmin? And sort them out?’
‘That’s what Tracey Lee was suggesting.
And it’s as good a theory as any we’ve got so far. It would be dead easy—what with the school banner spelling it out over the bed. He could just hang around at pick-up time, watching the kids at the bus stops, working out where they live.’
‘That doesn’t let Romero off the hook, though. Or the elegant Beatrice de B.’
‘Or the old perv next door.’ Gemma told Angie about her visit to Alistair Forde’s house; her suspicions about what he’d been doing with that table against the window.
‘I’ll check the system for him again,’ Angie said. ‘He sounds like the sort of guy who has to have form.’ She indicated the kit bags on the back seat. ‘You’ve got a nice batch of violent major offenders to take home with you. When you’ve finished with these, I’ll bring more over.’
Already, Gemma thought, her friend was recovering from the worst of the shock and she admired her resilience.
Angie caught Gemma checking her out and made a face, waving the sheaf of print-outs. ‘I don’t know if Tracey will be able to get anything much from these email addresses. The servers might have something traceable. But hell, it could be any one of these guys. Or none of them.’
These schoolgirls had much bigger lives than anyone imagined, Gemma thought. Bigger, darker and more dangerous. ‘Any point in checking it out with any of your integrated corporate resources?’
Any other time, Angie would have smiled. Some years ago, a police trainer had used the phrase when referring to police informants and Gemma and Angie had enjoyed using it ever since.
‘I’ve already taken it to the streets,’ Angie said. ‘But the offender who carries out this sort of crime is usually a very isolated individual.’ She started to get out of the car when her mobile rang. ‘Trevor!’ she said.
Gemma sat up straight. Angie’s voice was smooth as satin. ‘How nice. And how is it down there in Goulburn?’
There was a pause. ‘I’ll bet it’s hot,’ she said, agreeing with something he’d said and giving Gemma her deadliest narrowed-eyed look.
Gemma found herself almost feeling sorry for the guy.
Spiking the Girl Page 22
