Burke took a breath.
‘Stand up,’ she said. ‘Go on. You need to stand up first.’
‘Why? What is it?’
‘You’ll see,’ she continued, this time smiling. ‘Go on. I’m not going to hurt you.’
Arbor sensed otherwise. In her strange game of cat and mouse, he was feeling particularly mousey. But he did it. He got to his feet.
‘That’s it,’ said Burke. ‘Now take off your shirt.’
‘Ah, you what?’ said Arbor. ‘You’re pulling my leg, aren’t you?’
He sat back down again.
‘No. I’m not,’ said Burke. ‘Go on. I’ve spent the last two days wondering what was under that shirt of yours. The big footy player and all. You don’t begrudge me one little perv, do you?’
‘No,’ said Arbor. ‘Get off the grass. It’s stupid.’
‘Please yourself,’ said Burke. ‘But I can make it an order if you like.’
He felt like a fool. But he did it anyway. He stood again, slowly unbuttoning his shirt and throwing it onto the table. He could see her smile, could feel her eyes on him. Inspecting. Detecting. For just a little too long.
‘Have you had enough, then?’ he asked, finally.
‘Not really,’ she said.
She reached out towards him, charting a long, slow path across the ridges of his abs.
‘What are you doing?’ he asked.
‘What do you think I’m doing?’ she said. She was at his pants now, running her fingers lightly along the inside of his waistline, pulling at the buckle of his belt. Arbor didn’t move. He could feel the effect of her work. His cock was now as hard as the tabletop, pressing tightly against the satin of his shorts. Burke looked up at him and smiled.
‘Lose them,’ she said.
‘Lose what?’
‘The dacks. Lose the dacks. You know you want to.’
Damn it, he thought. She had him. She had him well and truly sussed. It took him a moment, but he surrendered. He dropped his pants, slowly removing one leg and then the other.
‘The shorts, too, while you’re at it,’ she said. ‘Go on. You might as well. It’ll save us some time.’
Fuck it, he thought. But he had no will to argue. Slowly, nervously, he slid his shorts to the floor.
‘That’s it. Lovely. Give us them here.’
He threw her the shorts.
‘Perfect. Now, come here … That’s it. Stand up straight,’ she said. ‘Go on. Stand to attention.’
His cock, too, was at attention. Any moment, Arbor thought, and it might offer a salute.
He stood there. As still as a dying slave.
‘Nice,’ she said. He could feel her fingers inching along the shaft of his cock, sifting through the hairs on his balls.
‘A nice weapon you have there, Constable,’ she said. ‘I haven’t seen one like that since … Broome, I reckon. Six months ago. So what would you like now? How about some service from a senior officer?’
Yes, he thought. Good God, yes. He was gone. Gone for all money.
‘I … I want to see your tits,’ he stammered. ‘I want to see your tits.’
‘Close your eyes, then,’ she said.
He did. And waited. And waited. Waited for he didn’t know what.
‘Keep them closed,’ he heard. Her voice was a little more distant now. She was in his bedroom, he thought. Getting her gear off.
Suddenly, he heard a door. Not the bedroom door. Something more substantial. Something with a lock.
‘Sergeant?’
He realised. He still didn’t know her first name.
He opened his eyes.
The lights were on now and the windows wide, offering his cock to the world.
Bugger it, he thought.
‘Sergeant Burke?’ he tried again. Still no answer.
He killed the light and grabbed his shirt for cover.
The embarrassing bulge wouldn’t last long, he thought. The bitch had done enough to put him off sex until … until, well, maybe the next time.
SATURDAY
Arbor was late for work again. He slept past his alarm and woke with a pounding head and a stiff reminder of the night before. He took painkillers for the first and spent a few minutes extra in the shower taking the sting out of the second. Apart from a recurring image of a pair of large floating breasts, he found it surprisingly easy to avoid thoughts of the Burke woman. Instead, he set his mind on Jenny Martin, her tanned cleavage, her no doubt large and dark brown areole, her wide country hips and, of course, her … That was all it took. He came like he hadn’t come in a week, his coarse thoughts surging from his body in their race to the floor. It was messy and unseemly, he thought, but if he didn’t do it, he’d be undressing her all day.
It was wet hair and breakfast on the fly at Jack and Jill’s. A warm chicken and mayo roll and a purple Powerade. He drank the Powerade immediately, disposing of the bottle with a free throw into the bin in the corner, and then headed for the station. Seven forty, said his watch. Only ten minutes past start time, he figured, but it might be an issue. He had gone missing the whole day yesterday and was late the day before. He felt sure O’Reilly would have something to say.
But he needn’t have worried. The sergeant was in his usual position. He had his feet up, watching the cricket, and didn’t say a word as Arbor entered. The two detectives were huddled behind a whiteboard at the back of the room. The board was a new addition, Arbor observed, something he could easily imagine the detectives carrying with them wherever they went, to be dragged out and set up whenever their inquiries reached the sharp end.
Burke ducked her head out from behind the board and offered him a grin.
‘Morning, Constable,’ she said.
He was surprised. Her smile was far less cruel and toying than he had expected. Maybe, he told himself. Maybe she had had her fun and would now give him a little respect. Maybe, just maybe.
‘Morning,’ he replied, but then he heard her giggle, and Cole cough, as if suppressing a more noticeable laugh.
Damn it, he thought. He had spoken too soon. He thought it best to ignore them. He placed his cap on the front counter and opened his roll.
‘Did you sleep well?’ asked Burke. The detectives were laughing openly now.
‘Yeah, I slept fine, thanks,’ said Arbor. ‘And you?’
No matter how they tried, he decided, they would not draw a reaction. He bit into the roll. All he could taste was mayonnaise and rubber skin.
‘Yeah, I slept like a baby,’ said Burke. ‘Did you dream about me? I’m free again tonight, if you’re interested.’
Enough, thought Arbor. Give the woman her victory. He rewrapped his roll and donned his cap.
‘Sarge,’ he said to O’Reilly. ‘I might take a run out to the Martin place again and see if there’s any more sign of the Rashid girl.’
O’Reilly didn’t answer. In the absence of any negative sign, Arbor felt good to go. He headed for the door.
‘Hey, Constable,’ said Burke. ‘If you find the girl, or turn up anything else, you’ll be sure to let us know, won’t you?’
‘Yeah, I’ll let you know,’ he said. He was almost away before Burke called again.
‘Oh, and Constable,’ she said. ‘Listen, sorry. Before you go. If you’ve a minute. I’ve got what I think might be a major lead here. I’d like you to look at it if you don’t mind … I was wondering … Look, see if it’s anything you recognise.’
‘What is it?’ he asked, returning to the business side of the counter.
‘Come and see. You need to see it for yourself.’
Arbor brushed past O’Reilly and looked at the board.
‘You must have had blue balls this morning, I reckon,’ said the sergeant, as he broke into a laugh. ‘I’ve heard some stories in my time, but that one just about takes the cake.’
Taped to the whiteboard, centre stage, the focus of several lines of inquiry, were Arbor’s crimson satin shorts.
‘Ah, fuck off,
’ he said, snatching the shorts and stuffing them in his pocket. ‘I’ve just about had it with you pricks.’
Burke and Cole rolled with laughter.
‘What’ll you do, Constable?’ asked Cole. ‘Call the union?’
The detectives laughed even more.
O’Reilly dropped his feet to the floor and, for the first time, took his eyes from the cricket.
‘Go on. Piss off,’ he said. ‘I don’t want you moping around here all day. Just be back by lunch, all right? I fancy a counter meal and these two are going out, so I’ll need you to mind the shop.’
Arbor made for the door. Without looking back. He would destroy the shorts, he decided, the first chance he got.
No radio, no calls, no hassles. It was just the way he liked it. Only himself and the hum of his tyres on the open road. It was a welcome change, Arbor decided, from the hostility of the station and from the stressful events of the day before. Today, he hoped, might offer a little more peace. Amira, he hoped, might show some signs of recovery and be a little more able to communicate. Jenny might warm to him some more and maybe see her way clear to inviting him to dinner sometime. The rest of the day, he hoped, would be all plain sailing.
He steered the paddy wagon off the main road, then negotiated the sandy strip that led to the house. Although it was well past nine and the sun was already high, for the life of it, the place looked abandoned. He could see no animals, no sign of any workers, no sign of Amira, no sign of Jenny. And there was no sound, but for the cicadas and the distant hum of a combine. Arbor alighted and made for the door.
‘Hey, Bigfoot. Keep the noise down,’ said Jenny. ‘She’s still asleep.’
She was sitting in the shadows at the far end of the verandah.
‘Shit, sorry,’ whispered Arbor. ‘I didn’t see you there.’
‘I’m just having a break,’ she said. ‘Come on in.’
She stood up, opened the door gently and led him through the hallway into the kitchen.
‘Cuppa?’
‘Yeah, sure.’
Jenny poured two coffees and led Arbor further, out the back door and into the scrub beyond.
‘We can speak a little louder here,’ she said. ‘She won’t hear us.’
‘Okay,’ said Arbor. ‘How is she? How did she sleep?’
‘Not very well, I’m afraid,’ said Jenny. ‘I’ve been up with her pretty well all night. I could have given her something to help her sleep. A pill, maybe. But I didn’t really want to. You know. Natural sleep’s better. She just closed her eyes properly about an hour ago.’
‘And has she said anything?’
‘Not really. Nothing that made any sense. Something about Abba.’
‘Abba? Are you sure? The pop group? Are you sure you heard her right?’
‘Yeah, that’s what it sounded like,’ said Jenny. ‘Why? What are you thinking?’
‘I don’t know,’ said Arbor. ‘SOS, maybe? She’s into karaoke. Or so I’ve heard. I’ll look into it. You look like you need some shut eye yourself.’
‘Yeah, that’d be nice,’ said Jenny. ‘But I couldn’t very well leave her, could I? What about you? You don’t look so hot, either. Did you hit the grog last night?’
‘No … No, I didn’t,’ Arbor replied. ‘It may not look it, but I had an early night.’
Which was true. Sort of. He had just omitted some of the more salacious bits.
‘Lucky you,’ said Jenny. ‘Have you had any breakfast?’
‘Yeah. If you can call it that,’ said Arbor. ‘A chicken roll from the deli. But it was pretty crappy. I couldn’t finish it.’
Jenny took his arm and led him back towards the house.
‘Come on, I’ll fix you something,’ she said. ‘Anyway you look at it, it’s best we get indoors. I reckon that sun’s going to get real nasty. But keep your voice down. I’d rather she wasn’t disturbed for at least an hour or so yet.’
‘Hey, look, I’m sorry for all this,’ said Arbor. ‘Really. I am. I didn’t mean to put you through it all.’
‘It’s fine, Danny,’ Jenny said. ‘It’s fine. It really is. It’s what we do out here in the bush. We look out for each other. At least some of us do. It’s what we’re about. We stick together.’
A full meal and three cups of coffee later, Arbor felt that he too needed some sleep. Instead, he yawned, stretched and then got up, taking his plate and cup to the sink.
‘Leave them,’ said Jenny. ‘I’ll do them later.’
‘No bother,’ said Arbor. He turned on the taps. Suddenly, a loud rattling echoed through the walls. He closed the taps again.
‘Damn. I was afraid of that,’ said Jenny. ‘It happens from time to time.’
‘I hope it didn’t wake her,’ said Arbor. ‘Not after all the effort you’ve made.’
‘No, I hope not,’ said Jenny. ‘Maybe I should have a squiz.’
She got up and left the room. Arbor listened as her footsteps receded down the hallway. Strange, he thought. He was missing her already.
‘Abba! Abba!’ He heard the words for himself this time, Amira calling. It was clearly not the pop group. He took out his phone and did a search:
Abba (Urdu to English): (n) father; daddy
That explains that, he thought. But it also brings other questions to mind. Did she really witness her father’s murder? And, if so, how on earth did she manage to escape the killer? These were questions he was dying to ask her when she woke up. Until then he could only sit and wonder.
Jenny returned, holding her finger to her lips.
‘She just had a bad moment,’ she said. ‘She was talking in her sleep again, poor thing.’
‘I found out what Abba means,’ said Arbor. ‘It means father in Urdu. A few other languages, too, I’d reckon.’
‘That makes sense, I guess. I don’t know how they … if it’s they … I don’t know how they could have put her through that, Danny. You know? They must be monsters. It’s worse than what they did to her dad, I reckon. At least with him it was quick. She’ll have to live with it forever.’
‘Yeah, I guess she will.,’ said Arbor. ‘Listen, those pipes. Do you want me to have a look at them for you?’
‘What? Can you?’ said Jenny. ‘I mean, do you?’
‘Yeah, sure,’ said Arbor. ‘My old man’s a plumber. I spent most of my school holidays following him around. I learned a thing or two along the way. I’m sure I can fix a few dodgy pipes.’
‘That’d be great,’ said Jenny. ‘I can pay you, of course.’
‘Yeah, right,’ said Arbor. ‘Don’t be stupid. Consider it a Christmas present.’
‘Great. But … Are you sure? When would you—’
‘Maybe tomorrow arvo? If that’s okay with you. Amira might be right for a chat by then. And I’m hoping those Ds will have pissed off back to Perth. Sure as hell, they won’t have solved the case. I’m pretty sure they’re not even trying to.’
‘That’s sad.’
‘Yeah, well. That’s their screwed-up priorities, I reckon.’
‘Look, I’ve got to give you something,’ said Jenny. ‘Those pipes … They’ve been driving me crazy for yonks. What about it?’
‘You could do me a roast if you like,’ said Arbor. ‘If you’re up to it, that is. The truth is, I’ve hardly had a decent meal since I got here.’
‘Easy peasy,’ said Jenny. ‘A lamb roast, it is. Tomorrow night? If the detectives are gone?’
‘Even if they’re not, I reckon,’ said Arbor. ‘My mouth’s watering already.’
They laughed. The smile Jenny offered caught Arbor off guard.
‘So, Danny,’ she said, laying her hand upon his arm. ‘You know a bit about me. But I know bugger all about you. Give.’
‘Bugger all to tell, really,’ he said.
‘Come on … Start with how old you are. Twenty-two? Twenty-three?’
‘Twenty-three.’
‘And how long have you been a cop?’
‘Six weeks. Plus my tra
ining, of course. Chatton is my first posting.’
‘Thrown in at the deep end, eh?’
‘Yeah, you could say that.’
‘I did … And before that? I mean, you’ve been out of school, what, five years?’
‘I played footy.’
‘Uh-huh … What? Not professional? AFL?’
Arbor nodded.
‘Wow. I’m impressed.’
‘Don’t be. It didn’t last long. I was picked up by the Eagles a few years back. But I only managed a few games with them before I did my knee.’
‘Bad?’
‘Bad enough. My ACL. No more dancing for me, I’m afraid.’
He rolled up the leg of his pants. Four small but prominent scars bordered his patella.
‘You poor thing,’ said Jenny, running her fingers over the scars. It gave him shivers.
‘It works fine now,’ he said, giving the knee a rub, rolling down the pant leg. ‘Good enough for day to day anyway. But for footy? Forget it.’
‘A shame. You must miss it, eh? The lifestyle and all. All the girls. I mean, it’s not half as glamorous, is it? Being a policeman?’
‘No, it isn’t. But, then, I don’t miss the training, either. Or the twelve months of rehab.’
They laughed again. Jenny ran her fingers through her hair. Arbor hadn’t noticed before, but she had a small tattoo on the inside of her right arm. He strained to see it, but Jenny moved away and pulled down the sleeve of her dress.
‘No, don’t,’ she said. ‘It’s something I got ages ago. I’ve been meaning to have it removed.’
‘Sorry,’ said Arbor. ‘None of my business, I suppose. I was just curious, that’s all.’
‘Yeah, well. Curiosity killed the cat.’
Arbor looked at the clock and then glanced at his watch.
‘I reckon I’d better be heading back,’ he said. ‘The sarge’ll kill me if I’m not back for his lunch. I’m stretching his patience a bit, already, I reckon.’
‘What about Amira?’ asked Jenny.
‘I don’t know,’ said Arbor. ‘You don’t mind keeping her for a while, yet, do you? I’m still not sure.’
‘No,’ said Jenny. ‘As I told you, as long as you like.’
Fresh Blood Page 8
