Street Smart (Matt Reeves Thriller)

by Ben Onslow

  “You did have an exciting night. Where’s this kid now. Sounds like he might know more.”

  “I don’t know. He took off,” Matt lied. Charlie was traumatised enough by Billy’s death. He wasn’t planning on handing her over to anyone. He felt protective towards her. Like he did with Josh. Liking a bit of excitement shouldn’t be life-limiting. And from what he’d seen, he was pretty sure if Charlie got caught up in the system, that would be what happened.

  Draper played with the salt pot for a moment.

  “You’re meant to finish in a couple of days,” he said.

  Matt nodded and was about to tell Draper that when the assignment was over, that was the end, but Draper kept talking.

  “I’d like you to stay with it. I’ll clear it with Manakau. See if you can get in with Barnes and Fraser. Find out who their suppliers are and who they’re supplying. You’ve got a good backstory that will stack up if they look into you. Say you want to be part of it. I wouldn’t mind getting them off my patch sooner rather than later.”

  Did he want to get into this deeper? Or did he want to go back to regular policing like he’d decided last night?

  “How long have I got to decide?”

  “I’ll give you the afternoon to think about it. Otherwise, I’m going to have to put someone else on it, but nobody is as well placed as you.”

  “I’ll let you know later.” He needed to get Charlie to A&E and then figure out what to do with her. Then he’d decide whether he wanted this life or not.

  Charlie was sitting on the couch sketching in a sketchbook with a pencil. The bag he’d grabbed for her before they left the parking building was sitting on the floor open. She’d taken the time to rescue her sketchbook. It was the one thing she’d had in the cupboard so it must be important to her.

  And she’d found Josh’s clothes. They swam on her. She had the cuffs rolled up on the hoodie. If she stood, it would come down to her knees. The hem on the jeans looked folded up twice. Her hair was still damp and hanging around her shoulders, making wet patches on the grey top.

  She closed the sketchbook. “I washed my clothes. They are in the machine. Do you have a drier?”

  “No. I’ve got a rack you can hang them on. We’ll put them by the heater, and they should dry out in a couple of hours.

  He went over to where she was sitting and sat beside her.

  “What are you doing?” he asked.

  “Drawing.”

  “I can see that. Drawing what?” She’d just learned a couple of her friends had died, and a few more were in hospital, and she calmly sits on the couch drawing?

  She sighed and handed the sketchbook over to him.

  The first few pages were filled with drawings of things. A bedroom, a teddy bear, a chair, a tree. They were all nicely drawn and had notes written around them. Too dark. Should be taller. Horizon in the wrong place, like she’d been critiquing her drawings.

  “When did you do these?” he asked, still turning the pages. Shops, a car, a swing.

  “A couple of years ago. The art teacher at school said to keep a journal of the things around you. He said it would make us more aware of our surroundings.”

  He turned a few more pages. There was a picture of an older couple.

  “Your parents?” he asked, and Charlie nodded.

  He kept turning the pages studying the pictures she’d drawn. They looked good to him. A dog almost seemed to walk off the paper. One drawing was of a young woman who could have been Charlie, but a few years older. Then about halfway through the book, there were pages with nothing on them.

  “That’s when Mum and Dad died. I couldn’t find anything worth drawing, so I left the pages blank.”

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “But you started again?”

  Charlie nodded. “After I met Billy. He showed me how to do tags, and I practised them in the book.”

  “It was Billy who got you into tagging?”

  Charlie nodded. The damp hair fell over her face, and she pushed it back.

  He kept turning the pages. The next few were filled with tag designs. They were intricate. Not like the ones she’d pointed out last night.

  “Did you put one of these on a railway carriage?” he asked.

  She grinned, then leaned over him and flicked through the next quarter of the book. She stopped at a picture of a face, all shaded.

  “This one.” It was Billy. He could see the resemblance. It was sketched in blues and blacks.

  “That explains the smurf paint you threatened me with.”

  “I had black and darker blue too. You could have been multicoloured.”

  “Did you get it finished?”

  “Yeah.”

  He went to the next page. She’d drawn a picture of a group of kids sitting in a car. He recognised each one of them. They’d all spent the last month going in and out of the parking building. Billy was there. The girl in hospital with the burns. A Maori kid he’d seen. Now he thought about it, this was probably the other boy in the morgue with Billy.

  “You did this one this morning?” he asked. God, the picture was good.

  She bit her lip and nodded. The tears started in her eyes again.

  “They your friends?” he asked quietly.

  Charlie nodded and touched each of the faces.

  “Have you got other drawings in here of them?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Can I look at them?” Her drawings were good. They might help the police ID the victims. She could tell him their names, and he could pass them on.

  She shrugged. “Yeah, if you want.” The tears trickled down her cheeks. Poor kid.

  He closed the book and then opened it at the first few tag pictures and worked through the rest of the drawings methodically. He stopped at a sketch of the parking building and a couple of kids climbing over the concrete wall to get inside. It looked like she had been sitting in the café when she drew it. He was in awe of how good she was.

  Then the next couple of pages were studies of each of the kids. Just their faces. But her drawings were so good they could help the police identify the kids who were hurt and the one that was killed. Maybe she’d let him hand them over to Draper. But then he’d have to admit he was a cop.

  He’d think about it.

  “You draw all the time now?” he asked as he went through page by page.

  “Yeah. It makes me happy.”

  “Who’s this?” he asked when he came to a different picture. The same girl as before. Someone who looked like her and was maybe a little younger than he was.

  Charlie took the sketchbook away from him and shut it. “My sister.”

  “Where does she live?” he asked. If Charlie had a sister about his age, why was she living on the streets being preyed on by the likes of Fraser?

  “In Karori.” Charlie tucked the sketchbook back into her bag then sat with her feet pulled up on the couch and her arms wrapped around her knees.

  “I’ll take you to your sister’s place?”

  “No.” That was emphatic.

  “Why not?”

  “She’s got a boyfriend. And he thinks we come as a package deal,” she said after a bit of a pause.

  Bloody hell. Some kids have it hard.

  “Okay. We’ll think of something else. How’s the ankle?” he asked.

  “Fine,” she said.

  “Yeah, right. Stand up and walk then.”

  Charlie shrugged.

  Matt stood. “Come on, we’ll get it looked at and then decide what to do with you.”

  “I told you. Drop me at the CBD. I’ll look after myself.”

  That would be delivering her straight into Fraser’s arms. The arsehole.

  Maybe he should do what Draper wanted him to do. He could shut down the whole operation and get rid of Fraser. Make life a little safer for kids like Charlie.

  At the hospital, Charlie refused to give her name. In the end, he gave them Josh’s. Dressed in Josh’s old clothes, she almost passed as a teena
ge boy. And ankles are all the same.

  The doctor checked it for her.

  “I don’t think it’s broken. Just twisted. I’ll send you for an x-ray. If I’m right, we’ll strap it up. Then rest it for a few days, and it should come right.”

  About an hour later, after the x-ray and an all clear, they left the hospital. Now Charlie had crutches and could move a bit more easily.

  Chapter 9

  MATT DROVE HER back to the apartment. He should ask her if he could hand the drawings over to Draper. He could keep up the pretence of not being a cop. But he was pretty sure she was never going to believe it, so he might as well be honest.

  “I want you to do something,” he said to her.

  “What?” she asked suspiciously.

  “I want you to write down all you know about each one of those kids living in the parking building and let me make copies of your drawings.”

  “Why?” Even more suspicious now.

  “I think the drawings would help the police identify the kids.”

  “I knew you were a cop,” said Charlie.

  He sighed. “Yeah, you and Billy were right. So, what about giving us the pictures and the information?”

  “I don’t know,” said Charlie. “Those kids really don’t want anyone to know who they are.”

  He nodded. “But their parents might have filled missing person’s reports. They deserve to know what’s happened. They might step up.”

  Charlie raised her eyebrows at him. “Yeah, right,” she said. “No one chooses to live in a parking building if they’ve got somewhere else to go.”

  “Okay. What about just Billy and the other kid who died?”

  Charlie thought about that and then nodded.

  “Just Billy and Manu.”

  “Have you got the sketchbook with you?”

  Charlie shook her head. “It’s in your apartment.”

  “Okay, I’ll go get it. We can make copies, and you can tell me what you know about them. I’ll give the pictures to my boss, and he can deal with it.”

  He didn’t have a printer in the apartment, so finding a photocopier might be the way to go. Be better than taking a photo of the drawings with his phone and sending them to Draper.

  People must need things copied still. There must still be photocopiers around.

  “We’ll take the sketchbook somewhere to make copies. You want to wait here while I go get it?”

  “Okay.”

  He pulled in by the kerb outside his apartment, left her in the car and went up the stairs. He found the sketchbook sitting on the couch and took the stairs two at a time, going down, went out through the street level door and locked it behind him.

  On the kerb where he’d parked his car, there was Fraser. He had the door of the passenger side open and was hauling Charlie out. She’d grabbed one of her crutches and was trying to fend him off. But next thing she’s on the sidewalk, on her hands and knees.

  Fraser had parked his Mercedes across the road from his car. Looked like the motor was still running. Lucky, he hadn’t been long upstairs. Fraser could have had Charlie in his car and taken off without him knowing anything about it.

  He saw Fraser step back about to put the boot in.

  “Hey,” he yelled.

  Fraser turned and saw him barrelling towards him.

  “Leave her alone.” He got to Fraser, grabbed him by the shoulder and spun him around.

  Matt saw the flash of recognition in Fraser’s eyes. Fuck.

  “It was you last night.” Fraser’s voice was filled with anger. “Seen you hanging around lately. You want her for yourself?”

  “Yeah, it was me. And back off before I do it again.”

  Matt helped Charlie up and supported her. “You’re right. She’s one of mine.” Instead of pretending to be a drug dealer, he was pretending to be a pimp now.

  Fraser glared at Charlie and then back at Matt.

  “You’ll keep,” he said. “And you too bitch.”

  Matt watched him stride angrily across the street and get into his car. Bloody hell. Until Fraser was off the streets, Charlie wouldn’t be safe.

  “What was that about?” Charlie asked, suspicious of him again.

  “Had to tell him something so he’d back off.” The sooner Charlie was away from here, the better.

  Then it hit him. He knew someone who might help her. But first, they’d deal with the pictures. They’d be something to give Draper when he broke the news he wasn’t doing this anymore.

  He drove to a mall and sussed out a place that had copiers. A few people were inside copying stuff on the big white machines. He could hear the whir and clang as they worked.

  They found a table in the café beside the shop. Charlie sat, and he sat opposite her. He’d really like information about all the kids, not just Billy and Manu.

  “I think we should give the police everything you have,” he said.

  She shook her head.

  He put the sketchbook in front of Charlie.

  “They’re injured. They’re going to need help. Trust me. Go through the book and mark which drawings are of the kids you were living with. I’ll do everything I can to help them.”

  To his relief, Charlie nodded and pulled the book closer.

  “Mark how?” she asked. “I don’t want to wreck the pictures.”

  He grabbed a couple of paper napkins and gave them to her. “Rip them into strips and put them between the pages. I’m getting coffee. Want a milkshake?”

  “Yes, please.”

  “What flavour?”

  “Chocolate.” Charlie opened the sketchbook and turned the pages. When she came to the picture of Billy, she ripped a strip off the napkin and carefully rested it on the page.

  He went and ordered the coffee and milkshake. While he was waiting, he watched Charlie go through each page and stop now and then, and put a marker in.

  She was sweet. One minute bubbling about tagging and having him on about the way he was dressed. Then devastated about Billy and the others who were hurt in the explosion. Then fighting Fraser off fiercely even though there was no way she was going to win. Now agreeing to help him. He really liked her. He’d never had a younger sister. If he had, he wouldn’t have minded if she was Charlie.

  And she was resilient. Lost both parents and surviving. He and Josh had it easy, two parents that loved them. Almost a full set of grandparents.

  He took the milkshake and coffee back to the table.

  “Have you finished?” he asked.

  She shut the book on the last torn strip and nodded.

  “I’ll get them copied, and then we can work through what you know while we drink.

  He took the book into the little copying place and left Charlie with the milkshake. She could look after his coffee for him too.

  It was one of those serve yourself places. The young guy at the counter gave him a number and directed him to a machine that wasn’t being used.

  With a bit of whirring and banging the machine made A4 copies of all the pictures Charlie had marked. He picked up the sheaf of papers and the sketchbook, paid, then went back to Charlie.

  She was about halfway through her milkshake. The coffee was sitting there looking untouched and slightly cloudy.

  “It work?” she asked.

  “Yep. Got them.” He handed her the sketchbook. “Put this in your bag.” Then he pulled a chair around, so they were sitting side by side.

  He grabbed a pen out of his jacket pocket and straightened up the pile of copied sketches. The top one was the picture of Billy.

  “Now, tell me what you know about Billy.”

  Charlie caught her top lip between her teeth, and her eyes misted up a bit. God, he was asking her to talk about her friend the day after he’d died. Of course, it would upset her.

  “You, all right?”

  Charlie breathed in deeply, then nodded.

  “I don’t know much about him.”

  “Is Billy his real name?”


  She shrugged. “I don’t know. It’s what everyone called him.”

  “Okay.” He wrote Billy on the page.

  “Did he have a surname?”

  “No. He was only Billy.”

  Maybe this wouldn’t be any use to Draper after all.

  “Where did he come from?”

  “Somewhere up North. Whangarei, I think.”

  More helpful. He wrote Whangarei and then added a question mark.

  “Do you know why he was living on the streets?”

  “I think he had a fight with his stepfather. He didn’t talk much about himself.”

  “Do you know how old he was?”

  This time Charlie’s face brightened a bit because he’d asked a question she knew the answer to.

  She nodded. “We had a party for him. He said it was his nineteenth birthday.”

  “Do you remember the date?”

  She screwed up her face, trying to remember.

  “It was just after I started living there. Three weeks ago?”

  “Did you take pictures with your phone?”

  Charlie shook her head. “No, Billy wouldn’t let me.”

  “Okay. Now the next kid.” He turned the picture of Billy down beside the pile, and the other dead boy stared up at him.

  “What about Manu?”

  “He talked more than Billy did. His family is in Wellington, and he kept talking about going back. I don’t know why he didn’t.”

  “Perhaps he’d done something that he thought would get him into trouble.”

  Charlie shrugged again and then told him a bit more about Manu. Not a lot, but maybe enough for Draper to identify him.

  He wrote down what Charlie knew and then went to the next picture.

  “I’m sure Lisa doesn’t want to be found.”

  “She’s in hospital, badly hurt. Tell me why she isn’t living at home. Maybe I can pass it on, and she’ll be protected.” Anything had to be better than going back on the street and being used by the likes of Fraser.

  Charlie reluctantly told him what she knew about each kid. It was a list of terrible parents, bad luck and horrendous lives. And these were the kids Fraser got to cook meth for him. It was like they went from one appalling situation to something worse.