by Andrea Drew
After what was probably a minute or so, but felt like seconds, I heard the thud of boots on the carpeted hall downstairs, followed by the thump of what was likely a heavyset person heading up stairs.
A dark haired overweight man wearing glasses stood in the doorway. A gun hung in his right hand.
“Connor, you found him.” He sounded out of breath.
“Yeah.” Connor turned to face the man who was obviously his partner.
Aaron rubbed his groin. “You piece of shit. It was you, ya fucking scumbag, wasn’t it? What color is his fucking car?” He jerked his chin at his uncle and tried again to get up with no success.
“What? Why?” Connors hand rested on his belt.
“Because this fat fucker’s name was on the report. You were the guy Tiran mentioned before she hung up. Dark haired, blue car, no uniform.” He reached across and dug around in the bag, his hand emerging with a crumpled wet set of papers. “Look familiar?”
Ian leaned, in what I thought was an attempt to snatch the report from Aaron’s hand. Instead, he grabbed Aaron’s collar and hurled Aaron up, dragging him across the bed. Ian spat through gritted teeth.
“You kidnapped a police employee, you fucking scumbag.”
Aaron screamed in pain, his hands clawing at Ian without making contact.
Connor bounded over, attempting to separate them.
“That’s enough! The ambulance will be here soon. Let’s get Aaron’s injuries treated, and then we’ll work this mess out.”
Ian Robson let go of Aaron and gazed at Connor, his mouth open slightly. He rubbed the back of his neck and bit his lip.
“What color’s your car then, fuckwit?” Aaron’s face was red, eyes bulging.
Connor mumbled hoarsely, “It’s blue.”
“I spoke to Tiran one last time to warn her about the list. When we were talking, she said someone pulled up and I asked if it was a cop. She said no, some bloke she didn’t recognize. A bloke with dark hair had pulled up in a blue car. It was him!”
Connor’s face was ashen. “Ian? What the hell is he talking about?”
“You don’t understand. They were chasing me. I played a few rounds of poker and if I didn’t pay ‘em back… It was just here and there, nothing major.”
Connor inched forward. “So what, you swiped cash and weapons from crime scenes?”
Aaron did his best to shuffle across to the edge of the bed.
“Yeah, he didn’t want the report to hit the open air, especially if his name was listed as a bent cop. When he couldn’t find it at the factory, he went to visit my missus and killed her. Didn’t you, you piece of shit?” said Aaron through gritted teeth.
“Listen, low life…”
Aaron grabbed at the hunting rifle on the floor. I saw it in slow motion, the gun pointed at Ian Robson, the look of satisfaction on Aaron’s face as his arm locked alongside the weapon and he pulled the trigger.
The room exploded. A sound shook the walls, the floors vibrating. My body was shoved backward in the chair.
I saw Connor pull his gun out. Aaron’s body jerked backward, his arms falling forward. His eyes registered a look of betrayal. His hand went to his stomach where the first purplish bud had appeared.
Ian was hit between the eyes and he had fallen backwards, his head hitting the cupboard before he landed on the ground with a sickening smash.
Then it was quiet. My ears were ringing, and the smell of sulfur and ammonia stung my nose. Connor was still.
It had been so fast that it took a second to register it was over. Connor stepped sideways. After a moment, he sat beside me on the floor.
It took a moment before I could speak. Aaron was still screaming.
“I, I, I can’t believe that just happened. I thought you were going to shoot him in the leg or the shoulder or something…”
“He was never going to stop. Ever.” Connor was fidgeting, his knee jiggling. “As for Ian, my God…” I rubbed at my wrists and looked up at him. His face was pale underneath and I saw the grey marks of insomnia forming under his eyes. It was difficult for him to meet my gaze at the moment, but then, he’d just done something that neither of us would ever forget.
“This has been harder on you than I ever thought, but then I had the wrong idea…” I didn’t want to tell him that I’d ever doubted his motives and at one point had suspected he was behind the abductions. I turned to him, and draped an arm around his shoulders, finally allowing myself to turn and embrace him feeling the warmth. He felt good and I let out a long breath.
I closed my eyes, feeling his pulse spinning out of control beneath my cheek. The lights outside cut through the darkness and I saw the red and blue lights spinning and shining through the bedroom window.
The ambulance had arrived.
17
I heard Leah long before I saw her. The paramedic had draped a blanket around my shoulders as I sipped on hot sweet tea. Her screams were barbaric. Her naked anguish was all encompassing. Held back by the police tape and surrounded by nosy neighbors and news vans lining the street, she must have feared the worst.
I made my way to the door to speak to the officer posted on my front porch.
I leaned across to get his attention, my hair in disarray and one shoe falling off. I struggled to get it back on when she spotted me. She called “Ah! My sister, oh, my God, Gypsy, you’re alive.”
She threw her arms around me in a vicelike grip and as she held on, her squeeze was so tight I struggled to breathe. I shook my head and closed my eyes. As I held my sister, I realized my hands were trembling.
Her torso convulsed as she began to sob. She cried the tears that wouldn’t come to me. We’d truly achieved what I had yearned for. We were sisters again. I knew she loved me. The thought of losing each other had brought home to us how it would feel.
I pulled away and grasping her shoulders studied her.
“Wipe your face. You look like panda girl. Your makeup has run.”
That at least brought a small smile to her tear streaked face. She wiped the tears away with her fingers.
“Goddamn you, Gypsy, you scared the shit out of me. What the hell were you thinking discharging yourself?” I looked down at Renee by Leah’s side and she smiled faintly as I grabbed her hand.
“I had a rough plan. I’m glad it worked out and I’m in one piece, kind of.”
Leah smoothed down her hair.
“Next time, let me know before you go off half-cocked, okay? You damn loose cannon.” Her shoulders slumped and she turned her body away slightly.
“Okay, Leah, I’ll make a note for my files.” I grabbed her hand that had fallen by her side.
I held her gaze as I squeezed her hand. “I’m going to have to go inside and finish making a statement. It’s like Central Station in there.”
“All right, meet me at my place when you’re done, okay? We’ve got some catching up to do.” Leah placed her arm on Renee’s shoulder, ushering her back to their car.
I headed inside.
As I wandered in, I passed two technicians carrying a body bag, which I assumed contained all that was left of Ian Robson.
Connor was talking with two men whose clothes looked like a throwback to the seventies, one of them with hair plastered to his head. The unknown man’s hands were waving around madly, his voice urgent and insistent.
Probably explaining the whole corruption and lost report saga. It was moments like these that I was grateful I didn’t work in the police force, far too much pressure and intensity. Then again, I had almost been killed twice. I didn’t want to go through this ever again. Thankfully, Connor would explain to the powers that be, why I had Aaron tied up, and I’d mentioned it in my statement too.
I sat down on my comfortable couch, scrunching my butt into the groove.
Connor nodded his head, their conversation drawing to a close.
Connor turned. “Okay, later then, Bittern,” he said. I felt the couch give a little as he sat down.
I looked at him, relieved to see some color had returned to his face.
“What’s the plan? Is there one?”
I saw a grimace twist across his face. “I don’t know how I’ll explain this to Jill. I think Christie has an idea though. Ian and I interviewed her a couple of days ago.”
I looked down. “Yeah, Ian.”
“I’m still numb. We always said that people could surprise us, but I didn’t think that meant he would shock me like this.” He winced and rubbed a fist across his chest. “The irony is that his name was never on the confidential list of potentially corrupt cops.”
“It wasn’t?”
“No, there was an Ian Braithwaite, but Ian didn’t know that I guess. Aaron got it wrong. Ian was paranoid, and when he assumed the worst, well…” Connor’s expression was slack his eyes dull and he stared down at his empty hands.
“So what happens from here?” I placed my hand on his back.
“Aaron’s in the hospital. From there, he’ll go to court and face charges. Police killers don’t do well in jail. He’ll live. It takes time to bleed out from a stomach wound and the ambulance got here in time.”
“I’m still numb. I can’t believe you shot him...”
“Yeah, well, blood isn’t always thicker than water, especially after what he did, the pain he put so many people through. At first, I blamed myself, thought I wasn’t supportive enough, it was my fault.” His shoulders were drooped and his voice broke slightly. “I did everything I could before I realized he made a series of choices. This was his choice and his alone. He was never going to change. He’ll be locked up for a long time”
I asked a question he probably didn’t want to answer.
“Ian’s corruption?”
Connor nodded. “He’d kept his secret for a long time. He must have practiced the art of hiding crime scene theft and gambling debts so long, he became an expert. He didn’t want anyone to find out about the internal affairs investigation or the list.”
Connor’s stare was distant. “I never picked him as a killer. That’s what burns, but maybe he didn’t think he was capable of it. I’m guessing his decision to kill Tiran was spontaneous rather than planned.” Connor’s voice sounded flat and lifeless, expression slack, eyes dull. “His name wasn’t even on the damn list, I checked.” Head down, Connor shook his head, lips pressed together.
I moved closer. “Do you know how many times I wished we could have started things off differently? With a light hearted coffee somewhere, you know, like normal people do?”
One corner of his mouth moved upwards and he jerked his head up. “Yeah, me too.”
“I guess something positive came out of this though.” I reached for his hand, which felt warm and alive.
“Oh, yeah, what’s that?” Connor’s brown eyes were beginning to show traces of life again. He placed his hand on mine.
“Meeting me, of course.” I felt the delicious rush of his fingers as they brushed my cheek.
“That’s true,” he said quietly. “Don’t they say better late than never? Maybe we can make up for lost time.”
As his lips brushed against mine, warm, smooth, and delicious, I knew that we would.
The adventure continues . . .
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Gypsy Cradle – An Excerpt
Monday 21st January, 9.36am
Christie leaned forward in her office chair, which creaked as she bent toward the monitor. The morning coffee tasted good, and she let it cool on her desk. Shuffling her chair closer to the screen, she grasped the mouse and clicked on the first email. Monday mornings were usually frantic and today was no exception.
Her stomach twisted, and she sat up as a wave of nausea hit. She lifted a hand to her temple, rubbing at the ache in her head.
What is wrong with me? I felt fine earlier.
As another wave of nausea hit, she knew something was wrong, very wrong.
Oh god, I can’t vomit here, not at work.
She breathed slowly in an attempt to calm herself, and tentatively moved up from her seat, before sitting back down.
Bad idea. I don’t think I’ll make it to the bathroom. Oh god what do I do?
The lights seemed piercing, and she blinked. Prickles raced across her arms, which were cold and clammy. The thick warm suffocating air meant she struggled to catch her breath.
Her heart was hammering. It banged so loudly and fiercely that surely someone could hear it. John at the next cubicle was on the phone in an intense client discussion about a design project. Christie didn’t understand any of it. She rarely suffered headaches or nausea.
“Jawwwwn,” she groaned, trying to get help, but the word came out slow and slurred. Saliva dribbled from the corner of her mouth.
The room began to spin, slowly at first, then faster, until she was on a dizzying roundabout that culminated in her fall from the chair. She landed on the soft pile carpet with a thud.
John’s head bobbed up over the top of his cubicle. His eyes widened. “Christie?” Christie had collapsed next to her desk, and he was up and out of his chair in an instant. “Oh my god, Christie!”
John squatted by her and, within a few seconds, Elle and Jason, two other designers, crowded around.
“Oh my god,” breathed Elle.
“Call an ambulance!” screeched John, sending Elle and Jason scurrying, as he checked Christie’s airway.
She was breathing, thank goodness, but unconscious. Another staff member appeared in the doorway and froze, coffee cups perched in midair.
“Don’t crowd her,” said John, putting one hand out. “If you want to help, make sure the bloody ambos know what to expect.”
John stayed with her until the ambulance arrived. Once he’d briefed the paramedics, he turned to see shocked employees milling around, murmuring their concern. He followed the paramedics out to the ambulance as they loaded Christie in. He stood with arms crossed as it left.
He hoped she’d be okay. It didn’t look good.
Friday 18th January, 9.30am
The day that I learned Christie’s life was in danger started like any other. In fact, if anything, it was more pleasant than usual. Connor had the night off from his duties as senior detective at Carlton police station and I was looking forward to wine, dinner, song and possibly a roll in the hay if the stars aligned themselves correctly.
After a quick shower and breakfast, I headed to my study, coffee in hand, its delicious rich smell drifting upward. While my study was small, it was perfect for my needs. A beautifully varnished desk with a green antique writing lamp perched on the corner and the window before me allowed a view of my tiny but trim garden.
Today was one of those days when all was right with the world. After checking my emails and replying to two enquiries, I carefully retrieved a manila folder from the middle of a precarious pile. I’d just got into the writing zone, and getting my mental teeth into a proposal for an electrical company, when I felt the buzz of my mobile phone. For a moment, I hung indecisive, wondering whether to abandon my train of thought to answer it. Then I saw that the caller was Leah, my younger sister.
“Leah
,” I answered curious, but in a tone much friendlier than it had been a year prior. We’d reached a new level of understanding and tolerance since Connor’s nephew almost killed me, having learned how losing each other forever could feel.
“Gypsy, how goes it?”
I heard the slight wobble in her voice. “What’s going on, Leah? Are you okay?”
“Yeah, I’m fine, really I am.”
I called bullshit. Leah wouldn’t ring me just to chew the fat with me; we didn’t have that kind of relationship. Something was up, and given a couple of prods, I was confident she’d spill the beans.
“Pull the other one, love, it plays jingle bells. What’s going on?” A bird bobbed on the front lawn as I waited for her reply. At first, all I got was a snuffly breath and some watery sniffing.
“Leah, don’t leave me in mystery like this, what the hell is wrong?”
“It’s that stupid bitch, Rita. She’s resurfaced.”
Great.
Around the time Connor’s twisted nephew Aaron had kidnapped a police employee and left me for dead in an alleyway, Leah was going through a major upheaval in her marriage. She’d found Paul’s phone one Saturday afternoon while he was having a nap, and was devastated to discover a pathetic sexting affair with a woman from work.
Of course, I hadn’t realized at first that the other woman was Rita, a usually reasonable member of the book club. Not quite my cup of tea, but well liked by Chloe and Matt. Rita, a friend of Chloe’s, seemed personable and funny, and I’d warmed to her over time. However, after listening to Rita’s brags about her sizzling fling with a married guy from work and learning the name of Paul’s other woman, I’d been shocked. I put two and two together, which led to a parting of the ways between us. Leah of course alternated between fury, blame and inconsolable grief. Mainly fury.
Turning away from the window, I reached for my mouse and minimized the screen that was beeping quietly. Yet another email, probably spam. “What do you mean resurfaced? How? Did you find more messages on his phone?”