Intruder

by Christine Bongers

  Two

  Somehow we made it through the shock of the police response.

  I expected maybe a single car and a couple of policemen with a notebook. Instead, car after car, lights flashing, lined the street out front.

  There were police everywhere. All through the house. Inside and out. Dusting. Fingerprinting. Spotlighting. Searching the shrubbery. Combing the streets. Questioning . . . everything. Over and over again.

  How old was he?

  How tall?

  Light or dark-skinned?

  Fair-haired or dark?

  ‘I don’t know.’ I shivered, despite the steamy heat of the night. ‘He was just . . . a shadow.’ I swallowed. ‘He smelled of sweat.’

  The circle of faces shrank in closer for the next question. The one that had nearly killed Jimmy to ask before he had dialled triple 0.

  ‘Did he touch you?’ The policeman who asked looked so close to my age that I flinched. Jimmy’s eyes drilled into mine, his lean frame taut as piano wire.

  ‘No,’ I lied, and was rewarded by some of the tension draining from his body.

  ‘Did he say anything?’asked the young cop.

  I lied again. ‘No. He ran away when I screamed out for my dad.’

  ‘Would you recognise him if you saw him?’

  ‘I only saw his hand –’ my gut clenched at the memory ‘– when I turned on the light . . . as he pulled the door shut behind him.’

  I couldn’t stop seeing it. Tanned and hairy against the white wood of my door.

  ‘And he wore a silver ring? Like a wedding band?’

  I shook my head. ‘No, it was on his second finger. His pointer.’

  ‘His index finger?’

  ‘Yes.’ I squinted, trying to explain. ‘It had black squiggles round it, markings . . . like the one in Lord of the Rings.’

  The young cop frowned. ‘You mean like the ring Frodo carried?’

  I nodded.

  He pursed his lips and exchanged a look with the watch sergeant looming silently over him.

  I stared back at them, not caring if they believed me or not.

  Because this time I was telling the truth.

  They kept going over it. Again and again. With Jimmy, white-faced and silent, beside me.

  By the third telling, the lies came more smoothly. I concentrated on getting the story straight and had almost forgotten my fear.

  Then a massive dog – a wild-eyed German Shepherd – came charging down our internal stairs, teeth flashing, snout swinging towards me. And whatever had been holding me together tore at the seams. I started to unravel.

  Jimmy caught me as I stumbled back against the bathroom door. I buried my face in his chest, the thud of his heartbeat echoing against my cheekbone, the cleanly laundered scent of his t-shirt betraying our lies.

  ‘Sorry, love.’ A sweaty, blue-overalled handler hauled on the leash and reined the dog in, its breath swinging in a hot angry arc across my bare legs. ‘Maxi’s just enthusiastic. He’s keen to track down that prowler.’

  The young cop stepped out of my bedroom. ‘In here,’ he said, jerking his head at the handler. ‘There’s a handprint on the doorjamb.’ He glanced down at me. ‘Looks like he came in through the laundry, entered the girl’s bedroom and ran out the same way. See if Maxi can pick up his scent.’

  I kept my face pressed into the threadbare comfort of Jimmy’s t-shirted chest. Breathing in his familiar smell. Driving out the sweaty stench of the intruder; the boogieman who’d stepped out of a nightmare and into our lives.

  ‘Kat doesn’t like dogs.’ Jimmy’s voice cracked. ‘She got bitten a couple of years ago. She’s scared –’

  I jerked away from him, stung by the casual betrayal. My hand automatically flying to the ugly scar along my jawline.

  We keep ourselves to ourselves. That’s the rule.

  He had no right telling our business to strangers. Even if they were police officers. Even if they were trying to help . . .

  The watch sergeant’s eyes rested on me like a heavy hand.

  He was older than the others, broad-shouldered and barrel-gutted. With eyes that didn’t miss a trick. He had turned up within minutes of the first patrol car arriving and had taken charge.

  ‘Got daughters myself,’ he had said.

  Like that explained everything.

  ‘Hey.’ He hunkered down to my level. ‘You okay, Katharine?’

  I nodded, and looked away. I could take most things in life on the chin, but kindness did my head in every time.

  ‘Lousy way to end Christmas, isn’t it?’

  I didn’t trust my voice and nodded again.

  ‘How about we head back upstairs to the kitchen?’ He glanced up at Jimmy. ‘A hot chocolate would do her good. For the shock.’

  Jimmy led the way. I followed, arms locked round my body, determined to hold it together. Slowly, my nerves began to settle the further we moved away from the dog.

  The Milo was hot and comforting between my hands, but the tremors kept breaking through. I kept the mug on the benchtop and tilted it towards me, lowering my lips to sip.

  It was Jimmy’s Christmas mug, the one he’d opened just this morning. The ridiculously expensive one I just had to buy him when I saw it in David Jones. Decorated with a frosted blue and silver cupcake and a swirly sprinkling of fancy letters: Pat-a-cake, pat-a-cake, baker’s man.

  It was our one effort to be festive: a single present each, wrapped and placed beside the brightly coloured wooden jigsaw tree that we assembled on the kitchen bench every Christmas morning.

  When I was little, Mum had been the present buyer, then the evil witch next door had taken over for a while. Since I’d banned her from our lives, Christmas had gone downhill. Neither Jimmy nor I could summon much enthusiasm for celebrating so close to the anniversary of Mum’s death.

  Today, though, he’d done good. Twelve months’ worth of groceries and bills, paid for on credit card, had earned enough points for a new iPhone for me. Flogging off my old phone had paid for the ridiculously expensive mug for him. We traded gifts, spent the day baking and eating a fancy meal for two, then we packed away the jigsaw tree, he went to work, and it was all over for another year.

  The watch sergeant sat across from me, his X-ray eyes scanning the lack of Christmas cheer, exposing the bare bones of our lives. Then they fixed on me, searching for a truth I had no intention of sharing.

  His gravelly voice rasped like a file against my frayed nerves. ‘You said your dad called us as soon as the prowler ran off?’

  I nodded, careful to avoid Jimmy’s gaze.

  ‘That’s good.’ He glanced up at Jimmy. ‘The first two units on the scene were just leaving another break-in round the corner. We’re not sure yet if they’re related, but our boys would’ve been here within a couple of minutes. This little pocket is a cul-de-sac, bounded by the creek. We could get lucky. We might have him hemmed in.’

  I took another careful sip of my Milo.

  ‘And we’ve got Maxi on the job.’ His eyes tracked Jimmy, pacing now, at the end of the bench. ‘He’s the best dog on the squad. If your prowler’s still out there, he’ll find him.’

  Jimmy stiffened, every muscle corded and tense. ‘If that gutless bastard’s still out there . . . if he comes back, so help me –’

  I pushed up from the bench, ignoring the hot Milo sloshing onto my hand. If Jimmy worked himself up into a state, he’d give us both away.

  ‘We’ll get the bastard with your cricket bat.’ I forced some bravado into my voice. ‘Knock him for six. That’ll teach him.’

  The watch sergeant barked out a half-laugh. ‘Attagirl.’ He turned to Jimmy. ‘Quite a kid you got there.’

  ‘I’m not a kid.’ I jutted my chin and straightened. ‘I’m just short for my age.’

  ‘She’s
fourteen,’ Jimmy said flatly, like I wasn’t even there.

  ‘Nearly fifteen,’ I protested, shooting him a warning look. He nodded, dropped a shaky hand onto my shoulder and squeezed. Like he finally got it.

  This was our business and we kept it to ourselves. That was the rule.

  At two in the morning, they were still at it. Well, what was left of them after Maxi had gone home, tail between his legs. I almost felt sorry for him. Probably would have, if he hadn’t been a dog.

  Jimmy and I propped each other up on the stairs, bodies rubbery with exhaustion, red-rimmed eyes fixed on the last remaining fingerprinting technician.

  It was Jimmy who finally broke the silence. ‘Think you’ll catch him?’

  ‘Do our best.’ The tech sucked in air between his teeth, feathering a fine coating of black powder down the doorjamb. ‘It’s hard with prowlers. If they don’t have a record, there’s nothing to match the prints up against.’ He glanced up at the only other police officer left at the scene. ‘Makes our job that much tougher, doesn’t it, Sarge?’

  The watch sergeant grunted. ‘Getting anything useful?’

  The fingerprinting bloke finished his delicate brushwork, and shrugged. ‘Got a couple of prints off the laundry door. Could’ve been anyone, but we’ll put them into the system. See what comes up.’ He pointed to the edge of my bedroom door. ‘These are just smears, where he pulled the door closed. Couldn’t lift anything, not even a partial.’ Standing back, he cast a disgruntled eye over the scene. ‘These sneak thieves love it when there’s somebody home. Pumps them full of adrenalin and their sweaty hands leave skid marks instead of prints.’

  The memory of that hand, hot and heavy on my skin, jerked me to my feet. ‘I’m going to bed.’ I lurched towards my room, instinctively shying away from the black smears on the doorway. ‘That okay with you?’

  Jimmy rubbed a tired hand over his face and waved me off. The technician knelt, stowed the brush and powder back into his case and snapped it shut. ‘Fine by me.’ He looked up at the watch sergeant. ‘All done here.’

  The older cop rubbed the back of his neck and studied me from under bushy brows. ‘Your dad has my card. He can ring if you think of anything else. Otherwise we’ll be in touch.’

  Jimmy stood to shake hands and started again with the thanks. I left them to it.

  The watch sergeant’s voice followed me into the murky pre-dawn shadows of my room. ‘With so many people away, it really is Christmas for burglars. Mightn’t seem like it right now, but it’s lucky that you were both home . . .’

  I barely made it to my bed. Fell into it like I was toppling into a well. Black and deep and silent. With thick spongy walls that eclipsed all sound and movement and swallowed the traitorous memory of that moment – suspended between sleep and a nightmare – when, for a single heartbeat, hope had flared in my chest, because I’d thought that my dad had come home.

  Three

  I woke later on Boxing Day morning to the sight of a pillow and doona lying twisted in the middle of my bedroom floor.

  Nestled into the folds, I could just make out the wood of Jimmy’s old Kookaburra cricket bat. The one he’d used to score a golden duck in front of my mum, at his final match for Valley’s as a sixteen-year-old.

  Across the hall, the toilet flushed.

  I must have died during the night to have slept through what Jimmy called his ‘morning ablutions’. The noise normally broadcasts throughout the house as though he’d switched on a hidden loudspeaker in the bowl. I always found the sound oddly soothing . . . it meant that he was home.

  ‘Did you sleep on my floor?’ My morning voice was croaky after last night’s screaming jag. ‘That must have been comfy.’

  ‘Not really.’ The evil witch from next door appeared in the doorway. ‘I mostly lay there and listened to you snore.’

  ‘What are you doing here?’ I struggled to sit up. ‘Where’s Jimmy?’

  ‘Your adenoids must be the size of golf balls.’ She bent and scooped up armfuls of doona. ‘He had to go into Crusty’s. That little grub of an apprentice had to pour himself out of a club to cover for Jimmy last night. He was three sheets to the wind by the time he got to work and rang at four, saying he needed help or he wouldn’t get the early orders done on time.’

  I slung my legs over the edge of the bed and hung my head. Dumped by the Fabulous Baker Boy. Again.

  That’s the nickname they gave Jimmy at the city’s hotel bars and clubs. It came from an old movie that he loved about a couple of musicians who’d survived for years on the club circuit without ever needing a day job. That was Jimmy’s dream – to ditch work and play for a living. An impossible dream. Like mine: for him to stop working nights.

  But Jimmy couldn’t help himself. He played keyboards – anything, anywhere, anytime – so long as it paid. Jazz. Rock. Lounge Lizard. Last night, it had been Christmas songs in some big hotel bar. One unforgettable time he’d even strapped himself into lederhosen and played the chicken dance on a piano accordion as a favour for a mate during Oktoberfest.

  Most nights, he’d tickle the ivories till late, then head into his day job – if you could call something that got you up at three in the morning a day job – making specialty breads and pastries at Crusty’s.

  Every day, the little bakery at Stones Corner churned out hundreds of loaves, rolls, croissants, gourmet pies and sausage rolls, supplying a roaring trade with restaurants and cafes all over Brisbane. The mornings were Crusty’s bread and butter; if those orders weren’t filled, somebody’s head would roll. And we couldn’t afford for it to be Jimmy’s.

  A cold barb pierced my gut.

  The prowler had known that my dad worked nights. That meant he either knew Jimmy or he’d been watching our house. Watching me . . .

  The evil witch’s voice cut into my thoughts. ‘Your dad didn’t want you here by yourself, so I stayed over.’

  I’d forgotten she could read minds; yet another of her evil powers.

  She folded my doona into a squishy cube and pushed it back into the empty shelf in my wardrobe. ‘Want some breakfast?’

  I shook my head. Her being here was wrong. After what she’d done to my mum, she had no right to remember where the spare linen was stored. ‘It’s okay. I’m up now, so you can go.’

  She slotted the pillow onto the top shelf and headed for the door. ‘I told Jimmy I’d wait till he got home. If you need me –’

  ‘Stop saying that.’ My voice shook with the effort to stay calm. ‘I don’t need you. We don’t need you.’

  ‘Maybe not.’ She shrugged, as though she didn’t much care either way. ‘I’ll be upstairs regardless.’

  I escaped to the bathroom, avoiding the filthy smears of powder coating every doorway, and showered till my fingers pruned. No amount of scrubbing could remove the invisible stain of the prowler’s sweaty hand on my flesh. But the other intruder I could deal with.

  I selected my standard outfit – cut-offs and a singlet – from my walk-on floordrobe, and decided to have it out with her. But by the time I made it upstairs, the back door hung open. My unwanted visitor was nowhere to be seen. There was just Jimmy, squatting with his back to me on the kitchen floor, looking like a hobo, flour dusting his workboots. He turned his unshaven face and bloodshot eyes my way, revealing what he held in his hands.

  ‘What the hell, Jimmy?’ I stepped back, heart pounding, my hand instinctively flying to my face.

  Four

  A pudding-shaped mound of quivering skin and jowls roly-polied between Jimmy’s open palms.

  ‘It’s okay, Katty, he’s gentle as.’ He scratched at the droopy undersides of its chin, drool spilling over his fingers and yo-yoing above the cork tiles. ‘Say hello to Hercules, Edie’s new dog.’

  A deep wrinkle unfolded and two eyes blinked up at me from a face that pole-vaulted the ugly barrier and zoom
ed skywards into stratospheric heights of hideousness.

  It took all my willpower to keep my voice even. ‘You know how I feel about dogs. Please, get it out of our kitchen.’

  Jimmy kept rubbing at its jowls, the flubbery rolls rippling back and forth. ‘I wouldn’t let him in if I thought he was any threat. Besides, how can you resist such a fine-looking fella?’

  He had to be hallucinating. With that squat toad-shaped body and oversized head, the dog looked like a mutant cross between Quasimodo and Jabba the Hutt – I checked a bit closer – with ridiculous bat-like ears and a village-idiot grin.

  The strange creature mistook that second look for encouragement and strained towards me with an enthusiasm that sent me sliding along the counter to the far side of the kitchen.

  ‘Keep him away from me!’

  Jimmy gave the jowls a final scrub and levered himself up. ‘There’s no fence between our yards. We can’t keep him out, so we might as well make him welcome.’

  He moved to kiss me but I jerked away, pressing harder into the bench. ‘I’m serious, I don’t want him here.’

  The horrible thing waddled over to me. He snuffled at my bare feet, forcing me up onto the bench, where I hugged my legs to keep them out of his reach.

  ‘Come on, Katty,’ said Jimmy. ‘He’s a real sweetheart. The only danger he poses is loving you to death.’

  The dog did seem bizarrely interested; his tail threatened to wag its arse-end right off. He put two paws tentatively on the cupboard door and grinned happily up at me.

  ‘Go away,’ I said, making little shooing motions with my hands. ‘Go on, get down.’ He dropped obediently onto the floor and rolled onto his back, tongue lolling like a wet strap from the corner of his mouth.

  He was a car-crash of an animal, horrible but compelling, and I struggled to tear my eyes away from the sight.

  ‘Kat, I’m serious.’ Jimmy gripped my shoulders and forced me to face him. ‘The watch sergeant told me that the best burglar alarm we can install is a dog.’

  I snorted. ‘Yeah, well, that really worked for us last night, didn’t it?’ There was no barking dog, not even when Edwina threw her softball bat up against my wall. ‘What happened? Did old I’m-Next-Door-If-You-Need-Me forget to turn her state-of-the-art alarm system on?’