10
The sun stabbed at Cecelia’s eyes as she stepped away from the school’s cool front entrance. She stopped for a moment, thinking that what she saw had to be an illusion caused by the glare. She put down her heavy book basket and rummaged in her bag for her sunglasses. But this was no trick of light. Her car door was clearly open and someone was leaning into it from the driver’s side.
Some bastard was trying to steal her car!
She looked around. The school was deserted. Hers was the only car in the car park. There was no one she could call for help.
Without a second thought she ran down the path and vaulted the small wrought iron fence that bordered the ornamental front garden. She wouldn’t warn him with a shout, she wanted to catch the creep red-handed.
But the thief must have heard her footsteps. He pulled his head from the car, looked at her and swore. It was then Cecelia realised he was a girl.
There was a pushbike leaning against the side of the car. The girl sprang on to it and took off. But in her panic to get away she skidded and the bike slid from under her.
Cecelia watched with a strange mixture of delight and horror as the girl shot several feet across the gravel before coming to a whimpering halt.
Cecelia wasted no time. “Serves you right,” she said, as she clamped her hand around the girl’s wrist and pulled her to her feet.
“Get off me.” The girl tried feebly to yank herself free. “Child abuse, child abuse!” she screamed to the deserted car park.
Cecelia gripped her wrist harder, ignoring the blood dripping from the girl’s elbow on to the ground.
“There’s no one to hear you; scream all you like. I’ll let go when you’ve told me what you were doing in my car.”
“That’s none of your fucking business you cock-sucking – ouch!”
Cecelia took a deep breath to calm herself.“I suppose I’d better just call the police and get this over with.” She moved to extract her phone from her pocket.
But the word police was like water to flame. “No police, please.” The girl’s aggressive tone vanished, replaced by one of rising panic. Her free hand began to twist at the hem of her top.
Cecelia regarded her coolly. The girl seemed intelligent enough to realise that aggression and bad language would get her nowhere. “Please let go of my arm, it hurts,” she said.
Strange, the accent was more polished than Cecelia had expected. The girl’s long tanned legs disappeared into a pair of skimpy designer shorts; her top was white and lacy with spaghetti straps. She turned her head away from Cecelia’s scrutinising stare.
“I’ll let go of your arm when you tell me what you were doing,” Cecelia said. “You wanted the car for joy riding, I suppose?”
The girl looked over her thin shoulder to the flower power 1978 VW. Its surface topography of hills and valleys could have kept a mapmaker busy for a month. Baling twine kept the front bumper attached to the body, and the upholstery on the back seat was ripped down to the springs. Even the dreamcatcher dangling from the rear view mirror looked more like a piece of dead bird than any kind of esoteric charm. It was interesting, Cecelia reflected, to view one’s own precious possessions through a stranger’s eyes.
A ghost of a smile raised the side of the girl’s painted lips, as if she too could see the absurdity of the accusation. As some of the tension eased, Cecelia loosened her grip, keeping her hand close, ready to clamp down again should there be a sudden bolt for freedom.
“I was just looking for… stuff,” the girl said, now with more embarrassment than bravado.
“It’s hardly a rich person’s car. Oh, I see. You saw an old bomb covered in psychedelic flowers, and you put two and two together. Well, young lady, you’ve failed your maths but I hope you have learned a good lesson in life. Appearances are often deceiving. Am I making myself clear?”
The girl looked down at her feet.
“I’ve never seen you before. Do you live around here?”
The girl nodded, watching the blood from her grazed knee trickle down her leg and ooze between her toes.
“I’ll give you a lift home. You’d better get those cuts attended to.” Cecelia moved to the damaged bike, wondering how she was going to fit it into her car. When she pulled the battered bike upright there was a distinct tinkling of glass. Her disappointment escaped with a sigh when she saw what had caused it: the photo of an eagle she’d had framed for her mother’s birthday, smashed on the ground. She took a breath, stooped to pick it up and prised at the broken glass to assess the damage.
“I’m sorry about the picture,” the girl said.
Puzzled by the sudden sincerity, Cecelia noted the care the girl used to take the broken picture from her hand. She chewed at her bottom lip as she looked at it. “It really just needs framing again,” she said.
There was something almost wistful about the way she looked at the photograph, Cecelia thought, as if the image of the wedge-tailed eagle had transposed her to another place, another time.
“What’s your name?” Cecelia asked softly.
The girl traced the outline of the eagle with her finger and shook her head, as if trying to shake away the fog of a dream. She raised her eyes to Cecelia. They were electric, like the blue of spring wildflowers. “Ruby.”
“Why did you want to take the picture, Ruby?” Cecelia was careful to keep an accusatory tone from her voice.
After a moment the girl said, “I don’t know really, I just liked it. The way the light shines on its feathers, the arrogant look in its eye – it’s beautiful. It’s free. Did you take it?”
“Yes.”
“How?” she whispered, as if trying not to startle the bird to flight.
“It’s not as clever as it looks, I’m afraid,” Cecelia said. “The bird was in a cage at the wildlife sanctuary. I scanned the original photo into my computer and erased the bars of the cage.” She gave a small laugh. “See? Things are not always as they seem.”
Ruby handed back the picture and hung her head. “I’ll work to pay for the cost of a new frame.” Cecelia saw the sincerity shining through the watery glaze of her eyes.
“We’ll talk about that on the way back to your place. Are your parents home?” Cecelia asked.
“There’s only Dad and he’s at work.” Ruby hesitated. “Are you going to tell him about this?”
“Maybe, maybe not.”
Ruby swallowed.“What do you mean?”
“That depends on you. I won’t tell if you repay your debt to me and stay out of any more trouble.” Cecelia rubbed her chin and thought about her plans for tomorrow. “I’ll collect you at nine tomorrow morning for a three hour cleaning session. That should be enough to pay for a new picture frame.”
Ruby agreed to the arrangement, and they managed to get the bike on to the roof of Cecelia’s car. She had no roof rack, so by the time they had finished tying it on her car looked like something Leonardo Da Vinci had dreamed up.
They stood back to survey their handiwork. Cecelia reached up and spun the wheel. “I’ll have to drive really slowly – let’s hope the cops don’t pull us over for this.” She was only a whisker away from getting a yellow sticker from Vince.
Ruby stared hard at the wheel ticking around. “They’d better not,” she said with a puzzling degree of vehemence.
11
Cam spotted his old friend through the smoke haze of the pub, sitting at a small table in the furthermost corner of the room. Superintendent Rod Cummings appeared relaxed though the cigarette in his hand was testimony to the stress of the job, the Royal Commission and the bikie problems that plagued the state.
The bar room was filling up. When Cam went to the bar he noticed Ruth Tilly and Cliff Donovan sitting at a table next to Rod’s. They seemed an unlikely couple, the huge working man and the voluptuous academic. Attraction of opposites, Cam supposed. Ruth must have noticed his pensive look and flashed him a smile so sweet it made his teeth ache. Cliff acknowledged Cam’s presence with a no
d, then turned back to Ruth who was leaning towards him across the table, enticing him with the soft valley of her cleavage. She took a cherry from her drink and impaled it on a blood red fingernail. As she put it between her teeth, she turned to Cam. The faint smile on her moistened lips, the way her eyes turned from Cliff’s to his, told him the performance was for him.
Cam slid his gaze away and tried to visualise her witness statement form. In the marital status box he was sure she’d ticked the box for widow. Merry Widow, he thought, his discomfort turning to wry amusement.
Rod scooped up the beer Cam slid across the table to him. “So, is it good to be home?” he asked in his soft baritone.
“I wish we’d never left in the first place,” Cam said. He sat down and took several long pulls from the glass before putting it back on the table.
“You weren’t to know how things would turn out,” Rod said. “How’s Ruby taken the move?”
“About as bad as I expected.”
“Kids are resilient, she’ll adapt.”
“Sure she will,” Cam said, without conviction.
Their afternoon’s unpacking had gone well until he’d dropped Ruby at the stockfeed shop for ‘work.’ She didn’t seem to mind the idea of spending the afternoon there until she’d overheard him talking to Mrs Wilmot about her starting as a permanent housekeeper next week. He hadn’t forbidden her to see Angelo, but he had now made it very difficult. His cowardice over the issue left him with a feeling of self-disgust which he tried to wash away with another gulp of beer. According to Mrs Wilmot, Ruby had not stayed long after he’d left; she said she had to do some emergency grocery shopping. He’d come home to a still empty fridge, a busted bike and a daughter covered in cuts and bruises and no satisfactory explanation.
“We’re meeting with the principal of Glenroyd Ladies’ College on Friday,” Cam said, “She starts next week. She doesn’t want to go, says it’s all high walls and lesbians.”
Rod laugh lifted ten years from his face. “Wasn’t that Elizabeth’s school?”
“Yes, that’s where we met. Elizabeth would have loved Ruby to go to GLC and it’s about the only thing me and my in-laws have ever agreed on. It’s also closer to me. She’ll be safer there.”
“You know Saint Bart’s was turned into an Ag college?” Rod asked.
Cam glanced towards Ruth and Cliff. The action now seemed to be taking place beneath the table. Cliff must have hit his mark for she jumped and let out one of her trademark machine gun laughs. Cam still had no recollection of ever meeting the woman before Monday, and it bothered him.
Rod gave him a nudge. “Hey, Earth to Cam.” Cam gave his friend a rueful grin, climbed to his feet and collected two more beers from the bar.
“Ruby’s got herself a boyfriend already,” he said as he sat down again. He took a sip of beer and watched the reaction.
Rod gave a snort.“Shit, that’s fast work. Do you approve?”
“I don’t approve of her going out behind my back. He’s a roughneck and he’s too old for her.”
“Did you ever think what Elizabeth’s parents might’ve said about you?” Rod asked with a humorous gleam in his eye. “St Bart’s was hardly the right side of the tracks.”
Cam ignored the remark. “I’ve checked him out; no record, comes from an Italian family of market gardeners who live south of here. She meets him in the park during his lunch break. He’s an apprentice mechanic.”
Rod smiled.“You’ve done your homework.”
“I was a detective, remember?”
“Yes, and I wish you still were. Just say the word and I’ll have a position for you with Toorrup detectives in the blink of an eye.”
Cam stifled a prickle of irritation. In recent months they had gone over this subject more often than he cared to remember.“Look, I’m really grateful for the string-pulling you did to get me here,” he said, “but this is all I want. I’m through with high profile jobs that get my name in the papers. I just want to stick it out here, keep Ruby safe and help her pass her exams. When she’s done, I’ll probably get out of the service altogether, maybe buy a farm.”
“You, leave The Job? That’ll be the day.” Rod looked thoughtful for a moment, as if carefully debating the wording of his next question. “Have you had any more of those letters?”
“No, none since we moved, thank Christ.”
Cam’s grip tightened around the beer glass. He’d been arresting officer in a large cannabis haul resulting in charges laid against some senior members of the Razorbacks motorcycle club. Anonymous letters started arriving soon after the arrest, threatening his life if he testified against them. He testified regardless, and a bomb that was meant for him killed his wife and son. The bikies were jailed over the drugs, but there wasn’t enough evidence to link them to the bombing. When their bikie sergeant-at-arms died in jail, the letters began again. This time they were about vengeance. This time they were threatening his daughter.
“Have you told Ruby about them?” Rod asked.
“Her nightmares over the fire have only just stopped. I’m not going to subject her to that kind of fear again, even if I do have to wrap her in cotton wool and have her hate me for it.” He released his grip on his glass, picked up a beermat and began to turn it around in his fingers. His laugh was bitter. “And you wonder why I won’t join your detectives.”
“Now you’re home, you feel safe?”
Cam’s gaze wandered to the bar.“The Razorbacks are an eastern states club; both of us are safer here. Though I’m not getting complacent - some of the clubs communicate.”
He looked into the swelling crowd of men and spotted a familiar form pushing his way through the jammed up bodies at the bar. Vince exchanged slurred greetings with the other drinkers and slapped his money down. He was wearing shorts, working boots and a garish Hawaiian shirt about two sizes too small. His hairy white gut protruded through the straining buttons.
“Look what the cat dragged in,” Cam said.
Rod leaned back in his chair and followed Cam’s gaze. “Who’s that?” He lit another cigarette and peered across the flame at the jostling figure.
“My Senior Constable, Vince Petrowski. You must have come across him. His record has more scratches on it than my first copy of Dark Side of the Moon.”
“Oh, so that’s what he looks like.” Rod nodded, glad to be able to put a face to the file.
Neither man spoke for a while. They watched Vince barge through the throng, a dripping jug of beer in his meaty paw. He swayed on his feet as he glanced around the room looking for an empty table. Seeing none, he pulled up a chair and sat uninvited at the table occupied by Ruth and Cliff. The couple did not seem to appreciate the intrusion.
Rod raised his eyebrows in query and Cam gave him a brief rundown on Cliff. Rod eyed the mechanic. “I hope Vince doesn’t think he’s going to pick a fight with him – he looks like he eats nails for breakfast.” He nodded towards the big man’s feet. “Check out the Ugg boots. Remember how we all used to wear them?”
“You had a mullet too.”
Cam lunged towards his friend’s bald patch and Rod pulled away, laughing.
Cam had another look at Cliff. He was wearing a sleeveless denim jacket with no shirt and his bulging biceps were smudged with faded tattoos.
“Ruth Tilly’s the woman who called the fire in,” he told Rod.
“The science teacher?”
Cam nodded. “Vince interviewed her.”
“An attractive woman. No wonder Cliff looks so pissed at Vince.” Rod raised an ironic eyebrow. “Maybe he’s just going over her statement?”
Cam smiled despite the uneasy feeling that crept over him. Cliff’s expression told him Vince was walking through a minefield.
Still keeping one eye on the next table, Cam said, “I’d like to up the Bell case from suspicious death to murder, but I can’t be certain until the autopsy.” He gave Rod a pointed stare. “I was surprised the Toorrup detectives never showed.”
Rod cleared his throat, running a hand across his smooth pate. “I was getting to that. Brass wants you to handle it. Our Toorrup dees are strapped over this bikie thing and we’re short-staffed because of the Royal Commission. We can’t spare anyone. Besides, you have more experience than the lot of them rolled into one.”
“Despite the fact I’m new to the state?”
Rod nodded. Cam paused to think. Bypassing the chain of command would cut through much of the red tape and give him a certain amount of cherished independence.
“What about my team?” he asked.
“You have a team.”
Cam laughed.“You mean my Glenroyd mob? Shit, Rod, do you know anything about them? Three rookies with no more than about six years between them. Hell, the girl’s only three months out of the Academy.”
“You do have Vince.”
“Oh sure. I have Vince.”
Rod placed his finger on his lip and shushed, tilting his head towards the next table.
Cam lowered his voice a notch.“The lack of experience in the others makes them a liability. Vince’s years of experience make him even more of one. I’ve never known anyone so good at abusing the system.”
“Take it or leave it.”
“You haven’t exactly given me a choice.” Cam’s scowl turned into a smile. “Yeah, of course I’ll take it.”
They clinked beer glasses to seal the arrangement.
“I found something at the fire site,” Cam said. “A piece of material that turned out to be the elasticised waistband of the guy’s shorts. The rest of the clothing was burned away to nothing, but his overhanging belly protected this small strip. When the body was shifted, the waistband was blown by the easterly into the parrot bush. That’s where I found it. I could still smell the fuel, which the lab has now confirmed. Someone tried to burn the body, Rod. Lucky for us they didn’t do a very good job of it.”
Rod gazed thoughtfully into his beer. “Murder? Sounds like you might be right.”
Cam continued, “One of the funny things is the conflicting reports of the witnesses about the colour of the smoke. Apparently the fire was reported soon after it started. A fuel fire would still be smoky black at that stage, but two of the witnesses said it was grey, like from an ordinary bushfire. As no one was supposed to know it was a fuel fire, it’s as if they were trying to put us off track.”
A Certain Malice Page 7
