by Brown, Honey
‘Thought so. Got that picture on my wall. Great painting.’ The policeman looked over to see if his order was ready. It wasn’t. He settled into his hip. His legs were long. His forearms sinewy and tanned. ‘Looks real, like a photograph. But I suppose everyone says that. Bloody detailed. So where do you surf?’
‘Better not say. Might ruin the picture for you.’
‘Ahh . . . I did wonder that. I surf a bit.’
‘Oh yeah?’
‘But if you don’t, I suppose telling you where isn’t gonna mean much to you.’ He gave a short laugh.
Billy laughed back stiffly. ‘Nah.’
The policeman touched the table near the lighter. ‘Anyway, thanks for that. Nice meeting you.’
‘Yep.’
He left.
They kept their heads down while he collected his food, didn’t look up to see if he glanced over again.
‘Dad didn’t like her too sober,’ Billy began again quietly, looking at his hands as he spoke. ‘He also didn’t like her too drunk. The thought of people knowing about her drinking, looking down on us, was just another thing he was paranoid about. He’d always kept up the grog steady to her, only as much as it took to stop her from getting it together and leaving.’
Billy was focused on telling, and Adam didn’t want to interrupt. His friend needed it off his chest. Trouble was, no sooner had the blond policeman disappeared inside the police van, than he came back out again. He stood on the footpath, in front of the hospital, eating his lunch, looking across the road at them in the diner window. His hand dipped into the greasy brown paper bag and drew out another potato cake.
‘Kovac started taking me to the market. My job was to carry a pair of puppies around so people could see them, and then bring people back to the litter. I can’t remember it exactly, just that I was walking back to where Kovac was set up near the car park – I turned around and you were there behind me.’ Billy was frowning, thinking back, trying to remember. ‘You must have followed me through the crowd. I know no one will believe me, but it wasn’t planned, I didn’t mean for it to happen. I’m sure Kovac and Joe talked about that sort of thing, taking a kid, I’m reckoning they did for sure just for the fact that they did take you in the end, but that day it just happened. Kovac actually cracked the shits when he saw you – he told me to leave the puppies and go and take you back to your parents.’ Billy swiped a hand in front of his face. ‘I don’t know why I didn’t do that. I just . . . went into the reserve. I knew you were following. I suppose I wanted to get in trouble. It was my dumb kid way of trying to get everyone’s attention, trying to have someone see what Kovac was doing to me. Next thing I remember the market was going crazy. It was like every single person there was looking for you. I panicked. A group was starting into the reserve. They were calling your name. We’d gone as far as the river. You were playing with rocks on the bank. I remember that.’ Billy put his elbows on the table and cupped his face. He looked down and wouldn’t look up. He gave a shake of his head. His voice caught in his throat. ‘I told you that you had to stay there. You were getting upset. I gave you the tiger to play with, to stop you crying. I told you to wait and your parents would come. I thought they would. I thought if you just waited there they’d find you.’ He pressed the corners of his eyes and wiped away tears before they could fall. ‘I don’t know what was going on in my head. You were just a little kid. I knew it was wrong to take you down there. I knew it was wrong to leave you. When I got closer to the market I saw that woman, Joe’s sister, she was waiting for me, she said Kovac had gone. His car was gone. She took me home. That was it. I figured all those people searching must have found you.’
He dragged his smokes and lighter closer. He didn’t take out a smoke, just spun the pack on the table. Over in front of the hospital, the policeman had screwed up the paper bag, thrown it in the bin. He was rubbing the salt and oil from his hands.
‘The first time I heard it was on the radio at Kovac’s. We were in the kennels. They were talking about the Market Boy. They were talking about tyre marks on the other side of the creek. Kovac was watching me as I listened. He said, “What did you do to that boy?”’ Billy looked up. ‘I knew then. He’d taken you. One time I’d hidden down the creek after a market and he’d come and found me. When I didn’t come back, he must have gone down there looking for me, must have seen you, seen a chance. I told my mum.’ He shrugged. ‘Even if she’d rung the police and didn’t tell her name, that wasn’t gonna stop Dad, not when it came out I was there, what I’d done. He wouldn’t have handled something like that, everyone thinking we were a part of something like that.’ Billy stopped spinning the smokes. He rubbed his forehead. ‘If I’d taken you back to the market none of it would have happened. If you hadn’t been by the river Kovac wouldn’t have seen you. I’ve told myself a thousand different things – like what would the point be in telling the cops. I thought you were dead for sure. It wasn’t like your parents were gonna be getting good news. Why would they want to know that Kovac had taken you and killed you? Right up until the moment I saw you, saw that tiger, I thought that’s what he’d done. It never crossed my mind that he might have sold you to Joe. I never thought you’d still be alive.’
The white-blond policeman had stepped off the pavement and onto the road. He’d walked through the taped-off area and was waiting for a break in the one lane of banked-up traffic. He held up his hand to stop the cars.
‘I suppose there were a couple of times it crossed my mind, that it could be you. When I first saw you, and you kept saying you didn’t know who you were. But I kept saying to myself – it can’t be. I don’t suppose I wanted to believe it. When you had the tiger . . . of course it was you, of course they’d done it. The whole thing was a game to them. They made me pose for that photo. They wanted to remember that day. They must have thought it was so fucking perfect for them, so easy. I didn’t know how to tell you I’d worked it out. I didn’t know how to tell you it was my fault.’
‘Billy, you better go.’
He nodded grimly. He couldn’t look up. ‘Yes.’
‘No, I mean the policeman is coming back.’
‘Hey?’
‘See.’
He looked. Billy got to his feet. ‘Fuck.’
The policeman had crossed through the traffic and was nodding to the driver who had stopped to let him cross. Billy collected up his smokes.
‘But he knows who I am anyway.’
‘Does it matter?’
‘And Scotty would have called the cops by now.’
‘I don’t think he would have. I’m not going to say anything about you . . . Are you sure you’d get in trouble, if you told them everything?’
‘Last time the church threatened me was when the surf picture went big. If I hadn’t dropped off the radar then, they would have brought me down. They’re bigger than anyone knows. They can control the cops.’
‘You better go then.’
‘. . . Yeah.’
They looked at one another. No time to hug. Not sure how to. Billy swiped Adam’s head, winked – it was more a flinch, a twitch.
He said without a smile, ‘I’m so sorry, kid.’
He was gone before Adam could say he didn’t blame him, never would.
The policeman caught sight of Billy ducking out the door. His hand flew to his belt and he broke into a jog. He looked along the window and saw Adam still sitting there. Adam waved. That stopped the policeman. It was an odd wave to give a policeman: Looking for me? The policeman’s hand dropped away from his belt. He came through into the diner. There were people queuing at the counter. A nurse was amongst them, and a man with two cameras over his shoulder, other media people. They turned because of the way the policeman burst in through the door. He glanced at them, looked out the windows, at the camera crew walking along, at the media van stuck in traffic. The policeman closed the door gently behind him, and stood in the queue, then he quietly made his way down to where Adam was.
&nbs
p; The policeman slid in where Billy had sat. The seat was probably still warm. He laid his hands flat on the table, tried to smile but it was tense. He stared at Adam. What he did then wasn’t what Adam expected. The policeman held his hand out to be shaken. ‘I’m Constable Kieran Worth.’
It was a firm shake.
‘What’s your name, mate?’
‘I think I’m Nathan Fisher.’
The policeman nodded. He let go of Adam’s hand and looked above the backrest at the queue. ‘Okay,’ he murmured. ‘Right.’ He sat in the seat again. He took the radio from his belt, held it up to his lips, put it down. ‘What happened to your friend?’
‘He had to go.’
The policeman looked at the ashtray and at the Solo can and at Adam’s empty Fruit Box. He put the radio to his mouth and spoke quietly into it. ‘Constable Worth here, chasing Sergeant Prescott, urgent priority.’ The radio blurted a garbled response. He turned the volume down. ‘I need you to put him on,’ he said into the handpiece. He looked out the window, over at the police van. He waited. A short response came through, difficult to understand.
‘Yes, Sergeant,’ Kieran said.
The person on the radio barked something.
‘Yes, Sergeant, it is. I’ve a closed gate here, in Bobby’s Diner across the road.’
‘Repeat that,’ the voice on the radio said, clearer now.
‘A closed gate in Bobby’s Diner across the road.’
After a pause a response came through. ‘Yep, I’ve got you.’
Out the window, over by the van, an older policeman, round and short, had stepped onto the pavement. He was standing beside the mannequin. He had a radio to his mouth. Kieran lifted his hand and acknowledged him through the window.
‘We’ll get it cleared for you now,’ the Sergeant said through the radio. ‘Are we able to confirm?’
Kieran lowered the radio. ‘Nathan, could take your cap off for me, please?’ Adam took it off and sat it on the table. Kieran stood as best he could in the booth and he leaned across. ‘Sorry about this, one check and we’ll be done. Could you lean forward?’ He looked at the back of Adam’s neck. ‘Thanks, that’s all I need.’ Into the radio he said, ‘That’s one hundred per cent confirmation, Sergeant.’
‘We’re calling that?’
‘Yes, call it.’
‘Steady there, Worth.’
‘Yes, sir.’
Four officers crossed the road. They stopped the traffic. The sergeant directed another two up the street. Those two broke into a run. The sergeant sent another two off in the opposite direction. The four officers came into the diner. Constable Kieran Worth didn’t turn to them. He smiled at Adam.
‘They’re just organising it so we can get across without the TV cameras and the reporters getting in the way.’
‘Okay.’
‘It might take a couple of minutes. You want to tell me about your mate?’
‘He’s a friend.’
‘Why did he have to go?’
‘He had to.’
‘You can call me Kieran if you like. Is it okay if I call you Nathan?’
Adam looked away without answering. On the TV screen, over on the counter, the media spokesperson from earlier reports, Gerard, was speaking to reporters. The sound was still turned down. As Adam watched, Gerard was tapped on the shoulder. Someone whispered into his ear. Gerard nodded. He walked off without another word. Camera flashes flared. The footage filmed the grey wall for a second and then it jerked around to film Gerard going out through a door, police ushering him out. Adam hoped Scotty was watching.
Officers were filing the customers out of the diner. They were made to walk in the other direction, away from Adam.
‘Do you have questions about what’s going to happen?’ Kieran asked. ‘You can ask me anything you like.’
‘I don’t have any questions.’
‘It’ll settle down once we’re across the road.’ His radio was hissing and crackling. He switched it off. ‘I’ll stay with you. I can stay with you as long as you like.’
A police car had blocked the lane of traffic. The officers in the diner were staying up the other end. Diner staff were taking turns looking through the round window in the kitchen door.
‘You were in this hospital,’ Kieran said.
‘Yes.’
‘Once we’re over there, we’ll go up into one of the wards. They’re going to want to have a quick look at you. Is that okay?’
‘Yes.’
‘Any nurse you’d like to ask for? I can do that.’ He smiled. ‘Did you have a favourite?’
‘Nurse Rosie.’
‘Done. We’ll get you over there, and as soon as I can I’m going to find out where your parents are. They’re not far. They’ll be on their way already.’
‘Okay.’
‘Thought of any questions yet?’
‘Do you know my parents’ names?’
‘Pauline and Mitchell.’
The female officer came down from the other end of the diner. ‘We’re ready to go.’
‘But are we ready?’ Kieran asked.
Adam thought. ‘Yes,’ he said.
In the polaroid, Monty and Jerry were at the picket fence. The picture was taken from the footpath. The dogs were white and fluffy. Tummies round as barrels. Jerry had his paws up on the fence, mouth open, mid-bark. Maybe he remembered he didn’t like Billy. Monty was excited, ears pricked, wagging her tail. Billy’s thumb was in the bottom of the picture. Thumbs up. Rat dogs are all good. The photo had a rushed feel about it, out of focus.
On the back of the polaroid was Nathan’s name, misspelt. Give to Natan Fisher. Written in childlike script.
‘It was left at a police station.’
Nathan’s mum and dad were sitting on the bed. Nathan was at his desk. Rain pattered the window. The wind was blowing down the hill, not across the flats like it usually did. The sky was luminous and sheer. The house had ducted heating. Warm air pushed down from the ceiling vent. His mother came across and squatted by the desk chair. She went to reach for Nathan’s hands, stopped herself, looked up into his face.
‘The police have had it for a few weeks. They’re thinking the two dogs were with you in the house, is that right?’
His mum’s hair was tied back in a low ponytail. Her brow was lined. She had a habit of fiddling with the rings on her left hand. She wore skirts and cardigans most days, smelled of whatever thing she’d been doing. If she’d been outside, soil and freshness came inside with her, garden smells and animal smells, dry leaves and hay. If she’d been cooking in the kitchen, she smelled of food – browned mincemeat, roast smells, garlic, potato peel, onion, melted butter, cinnamon. After doing the laundry, the scents were of washing powder and fabric softener. Today she smelled of the makeup she’d put on for the police visit.
Over on the bed, Nathan’s father sat in silence. His knees were wide apart. He’d come inside from the sheds. His shirtsleeves were rolled to his elbows. The bottoms of his work pants were tucked into his socks. A smudge of soil was on his forehead, underneath his fringe. He only ever smelled of one of two things: soapy, steamy showers or the shed. Hessian potato sacks, the fibrous, coarse string used to tie the bags, dry dirt, tractor exhaust fumes, those shed smells were almost always detectable on him. Except after his long showers. His eyes were blue, set well back. His lips were thin. His hair was thick and brown, turning grey. His beard was darker than his hair.
‘Nathan?’ his mother said. ‘What’s this photo about?’
Nathan looked out the window. He could see the boot of the police car, an unmarked vehicle. Adam listened for noises down in the kitchen. Nothing.
‘Kieran’s still here,’ she confirmed. ‘He said they dusted the photo for fingerprints. They matched some taken from the house. They believe the man from the diner is the same man who took this photo.’
‘Is Kieran here to talk to me?’
‘He has the detective with him. Only here to listen; the detective won
’t ask any questions. But Kieran has a few.’ Her gaze pinched in and she shook her head. ‘We’re worried the reason you’re not talking or telling us anything is because the man who took this photo has warned you not to. The police are wondering if this photo is some kind of threat. Reminding you not to talk. Is it that?’
‘No.’
‘They’re taking it very seriously. They think the man is dangerous.’
‘Are they looking for him?’
‘Did he threaten you? Did he tell you not to talk? The police say he might not have made it seem like a threat. They say he’s very clever and persuasive. They’ve found out things about him, Nathan. They’ve asked us to let them tell you, but . . .’ She glanced over at Nathan’s dad. ‘We could tell you,’ she said quietly.
‘Might be best to have the conversation in the kitchen,’ Nathan’s father said.
Adam’s mother put her fingers to her lips and looked away. She started crying. Those hot slipping tears that came without much warning. Hurt leaked out like that. Suddenly, small bits at a time. Her nose started running. She pulled a tissue from her sleeve.
‘We can tell them to go away,’ she whispered. ‘If you talk to us. Tell us, Nathan. Please tell us. We don’t expect you to feel any certain thing, or behave in any particular way, but we do want you to trust us.’ This time she took his hands in hers. Squeezed them. ‘Nothing you say will get you in any trouble. We’re going to love you no matter what you say. You can’t say the wrong thing to us. We are always, always going to be on your side.’
The eldest of Nathan’s two sisters, Sarina, walked past the open doorway. She was nineteen. She had a handbag over her shoulder. It looked like she was heading out. She wore long boots, stockings and a short coat. She didn’t look in.
Nathan put the photo of Monty and Jerry on the desk. In his bedroom he had a wardrobe, a tallboy, a bedside table, a lamp, the desk and the chair he was sitting on, a square plastic container with a basketball and a football and a skateboard in it. He had a cassette player and four cassettes. He had a shelf on the wall above his bed. On it were some of the gifts children had sent him. A carved wooden figure from a boy living in a village in Indonesia, a Rubik’s cube, a Stretch Armstrong, a snow globe of the Eiffel Tower from a French schoolgirl, Star Trek figurines, an Etch A Sketch, Matchbox cars, a cup of golden plastic popcorn from a high school class in Hollywood. The gifts were neatly displayed.
