‘He was in there for three-quarters of an hour before the stabbing occurred,’ he said to either of them, or both.
‘That’s about right,’ Shaun said. ‘As I said, we weren’t watching the clock, Dave.’
Dave nodded thoughtfully.
‘Three-quarters of an hour is a long time,’ he said.
‘I assure you it seemed a lot longer than that,’ Jo said.
‘I’ll bet,’ Dave said, and sat forward again, clasping his hands. His eyes switched from Jo to Shaun. Along with Wes, they had already been subjected to an intense grilling by Dave Wrigley and others, and this was the third go-around in as many days. Dave had called Shaun, saying he wanted to have a separate ‘chat’, but Jo had insisted on being present too, and Dave hadn’t objected.
Shaun was more than happy to have her along.
‘What demands did he make?’ Dave said.
Shaun said, ‘As I said last time—’
‘Just indulge me, buddy.’ Dave might’ve been smiling, or not. It was hard to tell.
‘We spent a lot of the time trying to calm him,’ Shaun said. ‘He was pretty fired up, waving his gun around and threatening to shoot everybody. Searched the house high and low for money. Wanted me to go to an ATM and withdraw five hundred dollars. I told him I didn’t have a card. But he didn’t believe me, and so . . . all this arguing went on. We were walking on eggs, Dave. I was trying to negotiate with the bastard. He carried on about how there had to be cash in the house somewhere but, you know, all we had was what we carried in our wallets. Then he turned on Jo, and that was when Wes and I jumped him. After that it was sheer mayhem.’
‘That’s exactly what happened,’ Jo said.
Dave nodded again. It didn’t mean he was in agreement.
‘You were all very fortunate,’ he said. ‘Terry Pritchett was the nastiest bill of goods to come out of Sydney in a good while. He was a hot suspect in the Henry Agar murder, which I’m sure you’ve heard about.’
It was the first time the Agar connection had been made to them. They both nodded.
‘What was that all about?’ Shaun said.
‘Dunno,’ Dave said. ‘Don’t care, particularly. Nice pair of slimeballs they were. Good riddance.’
‘Yeah,’ Shaun said.
To Jo, Dave said, ‘Jo, there’ll be a full investigation, and a coronial inquest in due course. At this stage I wouldn’t worry too much if I were you. It’s a violent death, and we have to follow set procedures.’ He straightened his conservative homicide tie.‘I have no reason to doubt that you acted in self-defence, and that is was a righteous homicide.’ He added, with the tact of a true professional, ‘Going on what he have so far, I would not expect any criminal charges to flow from this incident.’
Jo nodded. That seemed to be it.
Dave stood up. Shaun and Jo did the same.
‘Might have to go over the odd detail again down the track,’ Dave said. ‘So don’t leave the country yet. Come on, I’ll ride down with you.’
When they were outside the building, Shaun lit a cigarette.
‘What’s the deal on Stan Petrakos?’ he said. The grisly death had been all over the papers and on TV.
‘Yeah,’ Dave said. ‘That’s a weird one. The girlfriend definitely did it, but she claims she didn’t mean to. Apparently she thought he was Charlie Manson come to get her.’
Both Shaun and Jo regarded him with undisguised disbelief.
‘Come on, Dave,’ Shaun said.
‘True,’ Dave said, putting up two fingers like a good scout. ‘She’s a Goth, would you believe, a bit of a wild child. Been obsessed with Manson since forever. A real dope fiend, too. She was wigged out something terrible, according to reports.’
Shaun digested this, dragging on the cigarette.
‘Shot with his own gun,’ Dave said.‘She made a right mess of him too. Christ, you’d have to say there was something off about that tribe, wouldn’t you?’
‘Has been for a long, long time, Dave,’ Shaun said. ‘Now it’s the end of the bloodline.’
‘Yeah.’
‘Christ. Charlie Manson now, is it? Well, maybe she wasn’t too far wrong at that. So what’s the latest word? Any chance of the case being reopened?’
Dave said,‘Depends on what Rick Stiles has to say, I guess. But of course, he’ll probably clam up now that the threat’s gone. At the end of the day it’ll be up to the DPP, based on the recommendations of the cold-case unit, but I wouldn’t be too hopeful. With the star witness out of play, where’s it gonna go?’
‘Nowhere,’ Shaun said. So he would never clear his name now. Not conclusively.
‘Afraid so,’ Dave said.
‘I’ll bring the car up,’ Jo said. ‘Bye, Dave.’ She seemed to sense that Dave wanted a private parting word with Shaun.
Dave raised an arm. ‘Bye, Jo.’
When she’d gone, Dave said, ‘Your story doesn’t sit with me one hundred percent, Shaun.’
Here it comes. Shaun remained silent, waiting for the second shoe to drop.
Dave went on: ‘For instance, a neighbour said she thought she saw a man get out of a maroon car and put something under the mat. Same neighbour also thought she saw another car pull up, and a man go into the house. But she’s a woman in her eighties, and the report is uncorroborated . . . so far.’
Shaun said nothing: always the wisest policy in this situation.
‘But, it’s close enough. No-one’s gonna bust your chops over it. I guess what really happened inside that house isn’t important next to the fact that Terry Pritchett is now on a cold slab.’
‘That’s how I see it,’ Shaun said, throwing down his butt and grinding it into the pavement.
They stood around for a minute before clasping hands. Dave’s grip was fierce.
‘She’s a pistol, that Jo,’ Dave said. ‘You’re on a dead-set winner there.’
‘Bet on it.’
The maroon Prelude came into view along the service lane.
‘Nice car too,’ Dave said with a cunning flick of the eye. ‘Well, that’s all I wanted to get off my chest, man. Be cool. Catch you when.’
‘Yeah, you too, Dave.’
Shaun watched his back as he went inside the building, hand raised in the air.
Good one, Dave.You’ll go far in this caper.
Shaun was seated in a banquette with a pint of Bass when Wes came in the door, silhouetted from the bright sunshine outside. It was a recently reincarnated Irish pub called O’Toole’s, in the heart of Brunswick. Shaun remembered it from at least three of its previous lives, but it seemed someone had made a fist of it this time. At 2 pm it was all go, suits having liquid lunches and a whole variety of the younger, more casual set, with some lilting Celt music unobtrusively adding to the pleasant ambience.
With everything that had been happening, he’d not had time for a proper debrief, or even to express his gratitude to Wes. But since the police investigation was largely over and done, now was that time.
Wes made straight for the bar. His right arm was in a sling, encased in plaster up to the elbow. Only his fingertips protruded.
‘I’ll have what he’s got, love,’ he said to the winsome Colleen behind the jump, throwing a nod at Shaun.
‘What’s the verdict?’ Shaun said when he was seated opposite. Wes took a decent pull on his pint and wiped the froth from his lips with his good arm.
‘Broken wrist,’ Wes said.‘Snapped clean in half. Felt it pop as soon as I made contact.’
‘That was the best punch I’ve ever seen unloaded,’ Shaun said.
‘Well, I only had one shot. Had to be a good one.’
‘I thought you were never gonna do it,’ Shaun said.‘I was stringing him along, trying to distract him . . .’
‘Yeah,’ Wes said, nodding.‘I was in the wings for ages, but when I spotted that fuckin’ great shooter I thought, hold on a minute, Wes. Whoa up, son. Have to do this right first time, ’cause there’ll be no second bite of the che
rry.’
‘I warned you he was armed up.’
‘You did. But up close it seemed more dangerous than when you said it on the phone.’
They both laughed.
Wes swallowed some more Bass and said, ‘You know, when I decked Bobby Sharples that time, it all came down to a millisecond when he was wide open. Bobby had terrific vision, he’d already had one bounce, and as I closed in from, uh, behind him, I saw he was aiming to go inboard. He selected a target, propped and was about to screw it across his body, and that was when I nailed him, when he propped. In his mind, he’d already delivered the ball. No vision, for that long.’ He snapped his fingers. ‘That was all I needed to bring him down. Same deal with this Pritchett bastard. If I’d made my move too early he would’ve seen me, even though I was behind him. He had vision as good as Bobby’s. But then, your plan to distract him did the job. He lowered the shooter, momentarily took his eye off the ball, so to speak, and that was my cue. Whammo. Shit, it hurt, though.’
‘Hurt him a lot more.’
‘Yeah, but not enough. I couldn’t fuckin’ believe it when he came back from the dead. That guy’s jaw was busted in at least three places, not to mention the concussion he would’ve suffered. It should’ve been lights out, good night. You have to give him credit for boxing on. He had more balls than Bobby Sharples, that’s for sure.’
‘He was running on automatic,’ Shaun said.
‘Maybe,’ Wes said. ‘Weird, huh? Anyway Jo fixed his liver good and proper.’
Shaun nodded.
‘She all right?’
‘Quiet,’ Shaun said. ‘Not overly flash. She’ll have some problems, I guess. You’re not really meant to go around stabbing people in the heart.’ He could have added that she’d barely eaten or slept, despite dosing herself up with Prozac, and that she was given to silent, spontaneous crying jags.
Outside, they stood next to Wes’s grubby, clapped-out Commodore.
‘Still no sign of that big, fat bastard?’ Wes said.
‘Nope. He is AWOL.’
‘Good. That pleases me no end.’
‘Yeah. I’m sure he’d put in an appearance if he could.’
‘If it hasn’t happened by now, it isn’t gonna happen,’ Wes said.
‘Yeah. Looks like. Uh, by the way, this . . . car of yours is about ready for the scrapyard too, Wes,’ Shaun said.
‘You got that right.’
They leaned on it, smiled at each other. A glacier of traffic moved steadily along the tramlines of Sydney Road.
‘Open the trunk,’ Shaun said, straightening.
‘Why?’
‘Just open it.’
Wes did as instructed. Shaun went to the back of the Prelude, which was parked behind Wes’s car, and lifted its trunk. Wes watched him cast his eyes around cautiously. After a moment he returned, carrying a silver case. He put it in the Commodore’s trunk and slammed it down.
‘What’s that?’ Wes said.
‘That’s about . . . nine hundred and fifty thou. Close enough to a million.’
Wes’s jaw fell open.
‘Jesus, man, what the fuck—’
‘Wes, listen. Hadn’t been for you, Jo and I would both be in the ground by now, no question. You saved the day, man.’
‘Yeah, but shit, a million—’
‘Get used to it, Wes. It’s all yours.’ He lit a cigarette.‘Maybe I’m not doing you a real big favour, giving you tainted money. A lot of people have died for it over the years, one way and another.’
Wes had no words. He was rubbing the bristles on his chin.
‘Sounds a bit stupid,’ Shaun said, ‘but for me, it was never about the money anyway.’
‘Well . . . what was it about then?’ Wes said. His knowledge of the whole affair consisted of sensational but half-forgotten news items from long ago.
‘That’s the question,isn’t it?’Shaun said,to the air,it seemed.
Wes nodded pensively without envisioning a possible answer. That was a place he definitely didn’t want to visit.
‘Get yourself a new car for starters,’ Shaun said.
‘Yeah,’ Wes said. ‘I will. That’ll be top of the list.’ He was thoroughly perplexed.
‘Want some advice, from one who knows?’ Shaun said after a bit.
‘Sure. Go.’
‘Engage a top brief. With the right representation you stand an even chance of getting a bond in this indecent exposure charge you’ve got coming up. Otherwise you’ll hit the slammer for sure. Don’t do it, Wes. Any prison jolt, even a few months, will screw up your life no end, especially for a sex rap. You don’t wanna become a convict, do you?’
‘Shit no,’ Wes said.
‘Go and get some proper counselling. That’ll help when you’re in court. You’re not gonna go flashing your nasty any more, are you?’
‘Certainly not.’
‘I mean, you don’t have to, do you?’
‘I’m not a mental case, if that’s what you mean.’
‘That is what I mean. Give it away, man. Get your shit together. Get some romance in your life.’
‘Ha. That’s easy for you to say.’
‘Jo’s the first serious woman I’ve ever had, Wes.’
‘Yeah? Bullshit.’
‘Nope. And I just . . . stumbled into it. If I can manage that, after eleven years in the slot, you can do it with a leg in the air.’
‘I am no good with women,’ Wes pronounced with a sigh.
‘Why? You’re all right around Jo.’
‘Yeah, but . . . see, there’s no pressure on me. She’s with you. So I can safely lust after her from a distance. I haven’t had a girlfriend since I used to shag Brenda Michaels behind the local pavilion when I was fifteen. Mate, I learned all my social skills in the locker room. Put me anywhere with a bunch of swinging dicks, at a sportsmen’s night or even in front of a TV camera, and I’m your boy. I’m a star. But if I have to go head-to-head with a person of the opposite gender, I’m out of business. I’m lost. I get . . . tongue-tied. I don’t know the moves. Can’t read the play. I have no confidence, no idea what to do with a woman. They have a different . . . configuration, up here.’ He tapped his head.
‘Time you learned it,’ Shaun said. ‘Christ, Wes, you’re an intelligent, talented guy. Why toss it away?’
‘I know, I know,’ Wes said. ‘What do you suggest? Got anyone lined up? Jo’s twin sister, for example?’
‘You wish. Listen, you dope, you’re a rich man. Put an ad in the paper, then stand back to avoid the stampede. Christ.’
Wes thought long and hard about the whole deal, occasionally glancing over at Shaun as if to confirm he was serious and still on it. He was giving the impression he realised this was a significant moment for him.
‘That’s three things I have to do,’ he said.
‘It’s no big deal. You’ve only got to turn your whole life around.’
Wes nodded. Soon enough, a resigned sort of smile formed on his face.
‘All right—you got it,’ he said.
‘Is that a commitment?’
‘Sure. Want me to write it in blood?’
Shaun grinned at him. ‘Nah, I guess you’ve already done that.’
When he returned home Jo was in the lounge, sitting on the sofa with a magazine on her lap.
‘How are you doin’?’ he said, sitting alongside her and bringing one of her hands to his lips. The hand was as weightless as a baby’s. She was visibly thinner, and her eyelids were on the verge of closing down.
She leaned into him.‘Tired. So tired. Just had another pill. I should go to bed soon.’
‘You do that.’
‘How’d it go with Wes?’
‘Fine. He’s promised to be a good lad from now on.’
She managed a pathetic laugh. ‘That’s nice. Think he can do it?’
‘Don’t see why not. Money can solve many problems.’
‘Hmm,’ she said a bit dubiously. ‘Maybe. Let’s hope. Oh, D
ave Wrigley rang. Wants you to buzz him.’
‘Uh-huh. Want me to carry you upstairs first?’
‘Yes, please.’
She was out to it before she hit the sheets.
When he had him on the line, Dave said, with no preamble, ‘Thought you’d be interested in some ballistic results. The shotgun pellets that killed Stan Petrakos came from double-aught, one-eighty grain shells fired from a sawn-off twelve gauge. Same as the pellets dug out of Rick Stiles’ walls. No surprise there. But get this: they also ran comparative tests on the pellets used to shoot George and Stephanie. They are exactly the same. Even the spread’s identical. Shotgun ballistics’re not as reliable, or conclusive, as for regular bullets, but they’re pretty accurate all the same. There’s not much doubt that Stan’s gun was the murder weapon back in ’92.’
‘Is that so?’ Shaun said.
‘So the tech guys say. It may be enough to reopen the case, or not. First there’ll have to be a new coronial inquiry, after which it’s up to the DPP. But Stan being dead makes it a tough call. I wouldn’t be too optimistic. On top of that I imagine they’re a bit busy at present with all that drug squad stuff hitting the fan.’
Shaun put down the phone and thought about it. In his heart he really didn’t want the whole deal opened up again, but if the powers that be decided to, then he would have to accept that. From what Dave had told him it was a long shot anyway. He was now remembering Dave’s advice to put it all behind him, and the more he thought about it the more he saw the wisdom of his words. If he was moving forward with Jo at his side, he did not want to be dragging all that baggage behind him, and nor did she. She was going to be fragile for a while yet. It was going to be a testing time for the relationship. In any case, there was nothing left to prove to himself, or to her, or to anyone, and that was the only real issue. The rest was all legalities. He made a conscious decision to cut it all loose, now and forever, and straightaway his spirits rose.
In a couple of hours he went upstairs to check on her. She was awake and staring at the ceiling. He sat on the edge of the bed, and she gave him her hand to squeeze.
‘Want anything?’ he said.
There was a glimmer of interest. ‘Cup of tea?’
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