CHAPTER 11
The next morning, Gary woke up feeling like he'd been too close to a bomb explosion and soon realised he had. Someone was using a sledgehammer to bury a spike deep into his brain. He didn't want to move, but his bladder was about to erupt.
He painfully climbed out of bed and rolled his IV stand over to the en-suite bathroom. When he pissed, his ribs hurt and urine had a reddish tinge. Apprehensively, he looked in the mirror. Only a few cuts and scratches.
He gingerly climbed back into bed and pushed the "Attention" button. A nurse arrived: a roly-poly Chinese woman with a big smile. He got her to bring some more painkillers. After he'd downed them, she started to leave.
He said: "Out of curiosity, is anyone outside this room?"
"Yes, two policemen."
"Awake?"
"Of course."
"Good. Keep an eye on them. If they fall asleep, jab them with the biggest needle you've got."
She smiled. "OK."
The pain receded and he slept. When he woke, someone sat in the corner, reading a newspaper: Detective Inspector Marks, alone.
"Hi," Gary said.
Marks folded up his paper and came over to the bed. "Hello. How do you feel?"
"Like shit on a stick. How's your investigation going? Any arrests?"
"Afraid not."
"What's Forensics told you about the bomb?"
"They say the bomber used top-quality ingredients: no petrol or fertiliser for him. He used Semtex-H. It's a high-explosive that blasters use in mines and quarries."
"Can you trace it?"
"Unlikely. Forensics also found fragments of the electrical blasting cap used as the detonator."
"How did the bomb work?"
"It was radio-activated. The TV's remote control device emitted a signal the detonator picked up. The moment Robyn Parsons tried to turn on the TV, boom."
"Very sophisticated."
"Yes. But these days any dickhead with access to the internet can learn how to make a radio-controlled bomb."
"Still, the bomber's obviously bright."
"I agree."
"How'd he get in?"
"We're still not sure. Most of your apartment was incinerated. There are some scratches on the lock of your front door. Maybe he picked it."
"That wouldn't be easy. It was a Yale deadbolt."
"I know. But, like you said, he's obviously no dummy."
"Have you spoken to my neighbours?"
"Of course. They weren't helpful."
"Did they say nice things about me?"
"You must be kidding. The bomb blew most of them out of their beds and they're all homeless until the structural engineers give the OK. I'm worried one of them might try to kill you."
"I hoped you explained that I'm an innocent victim."
A cold stare. "That's yet to be established."
"What else have you been doing?"
"We've pulled out the files of your police investigations. I want you to look through them. You might notice something important."
"Sure, as soon as I get out of here."
"We've also created a list of everyone you arrested. We'll find out who've got alibis."
"Good."
Detective Marks sat on the end of the bed. "So you've got no idea who tried to kill you?"
"Correct. I'm not lovable. In fact, lots of people hate me. But I can't think who'd want to blow me to bits. That's deranged."
The Detective Inspector looked cunning and suspicious. "Mr Maddox, I hope you're being co-operative."
Gary spent five years as an undercover cop and knew how to lie. So he didn't overdo the indignation. "Of course I am. Why wouldn't I be?"
"Because I've looked through your personnel file: several complaints of using excessive force and twice reprimanded for insubordination."
"So what? That's got nothing to do with this case."
The Detective Inspector pursed his lips. "Yes it does, because you're a loose cannon. I'm very worried you're holding something back."
"Why would I do that?"
"Private retribution."
Gary admired Marks' perspicacity, while shaking his head. "Don't worry, if I work out who bombed my apartment, I'll tell you straight away."
"Alright. And just one last thing: because a bomb was used, I keep getting calls from the counter-terrorism loonies in Canberra who want to know if there's a terrorism angle. I keep telling them there isn't. Is that right?"
Gary's chuckle hurt his ribs. "Of course there isn't. I've never been to the Middle East."
Marks frowned and got to his feet. "Alright, I'll let you rest. How long does the doctor say you'll be here?"
"He wants me to stay three or four days. I plan to leave sooner."
"That's up to you. Just make sure you come in and look through your old files. And if the bomber tries to kill you again, let us know, huh?"
Very fucking funny.
As soon as the detective had left, Gary cadged a couple more painkillers from the nurse and rang Ray Boland on his mobile.
Ray got excited. "Gary, where the hell have you been? I've been trying to contact you for 24 hours. Your phone's out of order."
"My whole apartment's out of order. Someone blew it up. Killed my neighbour."
"Shit. You're joking?"
"Afraid not."
"Christ. Any idea who's responsible?"
"Zero."
"Where the hell are you?"
"Staining the sheets at St Vinnies."
"How badly you hurt?"
"I'll live. But I need help."
"What do you want?"
"For a start, I need some clothes. When you've finished work, could you buy some and bring them here?"
"Sure. What're your measurements?"
Gary provided them and his room number. Ray promised to visit just after six.
Gary dozed fitfully for the rest of the day. One of the cops on guard - a thin guy who looked like he should be admitted to hospital - came in and tried to chat about the explosion. Gary bluntly told him to go outside and do his job. The cop shambled out.
Just after six o'clock, the same cop returned. "There's a guy outside called Ray Boland. Says he wants to see you. Should I let him in?"
"Yes, he's a friend."
The cop left and Ray entered, holding a large plastic shopping bag. "Wow, you look like a punching bag."
"Don't worry, I'll survive."
Ray put the plastic bag on the bedside table. "I bought you some socks, undies, jeans, a shirt and a denim jacket. I hope you've still got your shoes."
"I have. Thanks. You're a good mate. I'll pay you back later."
"Forget it. On the way over here, I cruised past your apartment block ..."
"How did it look?"
"Like it's in Beirut. There's no way you'll get your rental bond back. I'm amazed you survived."
Gary explained how he was in the kitchen when Robyn from downstairs set off the bomb.
Ray said: "Poor woman. Were you close?"
"Getting friendly, but not in a relationship."
"And you've got no idea who planted the bomb?"
"Nope."
"Then how're you going to find the bastard?"
"I don't know. I'll probably have to wait until he tries again, and hope he doesn't add to his score."
"I'm glad I won't be starting your car every morning. What about your search for Trixie Powell? You still want to bug her mum's house?"
Gary wanted to continue that search because it might lead him to the bomber. But he wasn't fit enough to break into a house and plant a bug. First he had to heal.
He said: "Give me about a week to get better. Then we'll do it."
Not Dead Yet Page 12
