‘Slab Carlson doesn’t make deals, babe. My skill is in letting people like you think I do.’
Mina kept her face blank, though her heart thudded so hard it was a wonder he couldn’t hear it.
‘I’m not intimidated by you,’ she said. ‘Not by your threats or your money. I don’t care that you’ve got pornography all over your walls. And you’ve made a huge mistake if you think I’m anything like my dad.’
Everyone expected her to emulate Jacko. They were always watching, waiting for blood to out, as Caro Davison was fond of saying. They’d made it impossible to have a normal life, to make mistakes and learn from them like everyone else. Every mistake was evidence of her father’s blood, every good deed a lie.
‘I’m not so desperate to find my dad that I’ll fall into line with whatever you’ve got planned.’
‘You’re here, ain’t you?’
Mina turned her back and moved along the curve of the wall. Carlson stayed where he was. She could no longer see his silhouette in the glass. Every muscle tensed waiting for him to pounce. The wall led to a short corridor with a boxy console table in black and white at its end. Beside it was the fire escape. She glanced behind. Carlson walked toward her, a smile on his face, his arms relaxed at his sides. She took her chance. Her steps echoed off the marble as she raced for the corridor. Carlson’s leaden footfall was right behind her.
‘No you don’t.’ He grabbed her ponytail.
She screamed and kicked, but Carlson hauled her back to the main room then steered her toward the balcony doors. When he thrust her outside, the dry heat stole her breath. Carlson shoved her against the glass balustrade. Pain exploded in her ribs. Five storeys below her the street was busy with cars, cyclists and walkers. If she could just get her breath, she could cry for help. Someone had to notice.
‘The next time you mouth off to me,’ Carlson forced her halfway over the railing, ‘you just remember I can bench press three of you, with a hangover. It would be no trouble to toss you over the side. No trouble at all.’
Oh, please, Linc. Please be close by.
He’d dogged her steps for days. Now that she needed him he was off doing something else. And it was her own egotistical fault.
Suddenly Carlson let her go. Relief made her weak and she clung to the balustrade. The sun was a blurred platinum ball beyond a haze of cloud. Tears threatened, but she would not give this ape the pleasure.
He held the door open and gestured to the cool of the penthouse. ‘Now we’ve got that clear, let’s talk business.’
‘Fuck you.’
‘Not before you do what I tell you.’
He moved toward her and slapped her so hard across the face she lost her slippery hold on the balustrade. His fingers dug into her arms and he half dragged, half carried her inside. How could this be happening? She had to get away. She tried to grab the lounge, then the granite bench, but the glossy surface slipped from her fingers. He hauled her down a short hallway, opened a door and threw her inside. She felt the softness of a mattress beneath her.
‘People know I’m here,’ she said.
His laughter chilled her. ‘I’ve got Drummond on a leash. And he ain’t going to get in my way for a chick he’s already screwed.’
Her scalp prickled. Her pulse was so loud it was like her heart had migrated to her ears. How could Carlson know? Linc would never tell. It made him as vulnerable as it made her. Someone must have seen her walk-of-shame from his hotel room. Unless—oh, God. Had someone watched them?
Carlson stood at the foot of the bed, confident she wouldn’t fight back, enjoying his power and her fear. She could do something about that.
‘You lay one more hand on me, you’ll be sorry.’
Carlson moved fast. He grabbed her hair and yanked. ‘The only reason I ain’t shut your big mouth for you is ’cos you’ve got other uses. Let me down and it’ll be a toss-up whether I go for you or that stooge, Drummond, first. Got that?’
A whimper escaped and tears she didn’t realise she’d shed trailed her neck. She was pathetic. Couldn’t keep her mouth shut long enough to get out. Couldn’t clamber past her stupid pride and stay out of this altogether.
‘Get to work.’ He pointed toward the floor. ‘You and me have got big plans for lunch, so I want all this appraised before noon.’
Appraised? She followed the line of his arm to the small collection of artefacts. None of them would look out of place in Gibson’s shop, especially the monstrous candelabra set into a pink vase decorated with a hideous image of Pan and a sleeping girl.
‘Some are replicas,’ he said. ‘Some are for real. I want you to tell me what’s what.’
Was he kidding? Did he think she’d actually tell him the truth?
‘Don’t try to con me. I already know. This is a test. Can’t let you loose on my clients if I don’t trust you.’ He let go of her hair and walked to the door. ‘Two hours, babe. That’s all you’ve got.’
Two hours. After all those weekends spent at auction houses, she could do it in half that time. Less.
He looked her over then indicated a door behind her. ‘Go clean yourself up. Then get to work. This could be the beginning of something beautiful.’
‘Oh, yeah,’ she sneered. ‘I just love it when a plan comes together.’
Carlson cocked his head. ‘Weird. Bernie says that shit all the time.’
Chapter 29
‘YOU COMING OR GOING, MATE?’
A little jockey of a guy with a crew cut squinted up at Linc, his arms positioned as if he was ready to throw a punch, but a smile creased his sun-hardened face.
Linc moved out of the entrance. ‘Daydreaming about a beer.’
‘Bloody oath, but I ain’t gonna stand here thinkin’ about it.’
The little guy swaggered past on bandy legs. By the time he’d settled himself on the barstool, the publican had pulled a schooner and set it down in front of him.
The Workers was just as Dubois had described, and not the kind of place he’d identify as the young cops’ local. Behind the bar, a Workers Union Southern Cross shared pride of place with the Australian flag. A dartboard hung on the dingy wall an arm’s length from a framed print of Queen Elizabeth faded by at least fifty summers. The television, though, was state-of-the-art and dominated the room. Stale beer and cigarettes mingled with the patrons’ chatter and the crack of a ball hitting the willow.
A shout drew his attention. Strzelecki waved and pointed to a free chair at his table where Riker had his feet up and his eyes half closed.
Linc joined them. ‘Dubois said I could probably find you two here.’
‘Help yourself to a beer.’ Strzelecki signalled the barman. ‘Another glass over here, mate.’
The reply ‘get it yourself’ was buried among some choice swearing and excited commentary from the television. Strzelecki sauntered off toward the bar. The table hosted one empty pitcher and another almost two-thirds full. It was just after eleven a.m., a bit early in the day for drinking, but it was heading for forty degrees for the fifth day running. And a beer would help him bond quicker than if he stuck to soda water.
‘Don’t worry.’ Riker righted himself and tilted his glass at his forehead in mock salute. ‘We’re both off duty, sir.’
‘Quit the ‘sir’. It’s Linc, or Drummond.’ He grinned. ‘Either way, as I’m also officially off duty, I’m happy to drink your beer.’
‘My guess is you’re chasing that stuff about Jacko Everton.’
‘Safe guess.’
‘Turns out anything more than ten years old hasn’t been computerised. Feels like I’ve been wading through dust and archive boxes forever.’ Riker glanced toward the bar and lowered his voice. ‘Do you mind if I ask you something?’
‘Fire away.’
‘One thing I can’t figure out is how Everton fits into these robberies.’
‘A good cop follows up every lead, no matter how thin or buried in rumour. We need to know the facts, not how they’ve been const
rued over the years.’
‘But the M.O. is totally different. Everton committed corporate fraud, so why would he break into houses and rough people up? Let alone murder.’
‘Short answer—he wouldn’t. Long answer is far more complicated.’
Riker frowned. ‘How so?’
‘Way I see it there are three options. One. He’s not involved at all. Two. Circumstances have conspired to bring him down and now break-ins, pilfering things that are easy to carry and to fence, are all he’s capable of. Three. The robberies are part of something much bigger, and he is orchestrating the entire thing.’
Strzelecki returned with a fresh schooner glass. ‘I told you not to bother him. We’re trained to figure it out for ourselves.’
The morning’s humidity had crawled into the place, and though Linc had shunned his usual shirt and tie for a cotton t-shirt beneath his jacket, it was almost too much to bear. He filled his glass from the jug. The amber liquid cooled him right to the core. It had been a while since he sat in a pub sharing a pitcher of beer. His family were wine snobs and most of his former girlfriends had followed the chardonnay trend. Jodie favoured a beer at the end of the day, but they usually shared a couple of long-necks while they sat on her back veranda and watched the sun set over the aerial-littered skyline.
Strzelecki leaned over and muttered at his colleague to straighten himself up. When he caught Linc’s eye, he smiled. ‘Riker’s making the most of his bachelorhood before he ties the knot next week.’
‘Congratulations. Big wedding?’
Weddings, or more precisely bridesmaids high on cheap wine and wedding fever, weren’t his thing. Hopefully, Riker wouldn’t decide to invite him.
‘We’ve got two hundred people coming.’ Riker pulled a face. ‘Didn’t realise we even knew that many.’
Strzelecki grinned. ‘You probably don’t know half of them, mate. And the ceremony will be packed with all your old fans.’
Riker groaned.
‘Just grin your way through it until the speeches are over.’ Strzelecki topped up their glasses. A beige head of froth cascaded onto the table, netting applause and shouts of ‘don’t give up your day job, copper’ from a group nearby.
‘Fans?’ Linc had to ask.
‘I used to play State footy.’
‘He was star player for West Adelaide. That’s the only way he could land a hotty like Kylie.’
‘Piss off.’ Riker laughed.
Linc sipped his beer and listened to them riffing off each other. He and Jodie had shared that kind of camaraderie. Until he’d messed it up.
‘Dubois doesn’t come here?’ Linc had noted all the bar patrons were men.
Riker said, ‘She reckons the only thing this place knows about Women’s Liberation is that they burned their bras.’
‘That’s why it’s Wainright’s favourite.’ Strzelecki thumbed at the far end of the bar where the CSO sat drinking alone.
‘I thought he was on day shift?’
Riker dropped his feet to the floor and leaned closer. ‘Word is he’s eating crow on late shift as penance for all the evidence that has to be processed from the Everton house.’
It was good to know the slob didn’t have it all his own way. And Riker had opened a very convenient door.
‘All that stuff with the Evertons,’ Linc said. ‘It seems a nasty business.’
‘Yeah, some of the locals can really hold a grudge.’ Strzelecki leaned back in his chair and stretched out his legs. ‘I went to school with Mina Everton. She was friendly in primary school, but by high school she’d changed. Ready to drop you if you just looked at her funny. Teachers were always going round to talk to her mum, but it never seemed to make any difference.’
The jockey-type had struck up a conversation with two barflies who had their eyes glued to the television. Linc recognised the longish sun-bleached curls of one and the raw-hide skin of the other; they’d been at the community meeting, chatting with Carlson.
Riker gulped his beer then wagged a finger at Linc. ‘I didn’t know anything about Failie ’til I joined the force, but I can tell you one of the first things I got told was the Evertons ruined this town.’
‘Who told you that? Never mind, don’t tell me.’ Strzelecki looked at Linc. ‘I grew up in this town. For the most part, it’s great. Beach in summer, footy in winter, decent beer. But I can tell you, once something takes hold, they don’t let it go. My dad came here in the fifties with no money and even less English. He worked two jobs, saved his cash and minded his manners, and the only people this town treated worse than him were the Abos.’
Riker ran his hand through his dark hair. ‘Unfortunately, that’s still true of most towns, mate.’
With all his sister had told him about the treatment of the Indigenous in the court system, Linc could have sounded off about that for hours. Yet Strzelecki had known Mina at the time Jacko took off. A quiet chat could yield more insight than a bunch of dusty archive documents.
‘A dozen years though, that’s a long time to hold a grudge,’ he said. ‘To take it out on a twelve-year-old seems particularly mean.’
Strzelecki nodded. ‘I tried to stick up for her once.’
A roar rose from the handful of men at the bar. Someone had hit a six. The two blokes he recognised from the community meeting raised their glasses at the jockey. The little guy didn’t take his eyes off the screen as he slurped his beer.
‘Like I was saying. I tried to stick up for her. Pete Davison and his mates had her bailed up in the lunch shed, having a go about how her dad had buggered off with another woman because her mum was a cripple. She looked close to crying, so I stepped in. Told Davison to rack off. Flexed my puny muscles. Once they’d gone, Mina dead-armed me. Said I could eff off, that she didn’t need anyone to stick up for her.’
Linc could picture it. She hadn’t been far off dead-arming him last night. Might have been better if she had. It would have been great if he’d kept his mouth shut and she’d stayed. He sipped the froth off his beer, in case they glimpsed his thoughts.
‘If my kids ever get treated like that,’ Riker said, ‘I’ll be straight down the school. Put the fear of God into the little shits so they never do it again.’
‘These are the kids you swore you’d never have, are they?’ Strzelecki slapped his colleague on the shoulder.
Riker flushed. ‘You got kids, Drummond?’
Linc shook his head. ‘Too busy rounding up those bullies once they leave school.’
Maybe they should have a twelve-step program for bullies. Surely it was as destructive as alcoholism. Young bullies rarely grew into well-reasoned adults; some ended up taking their rage out on their own kids, holding a gun to the head of an angel-faced boy with terrified blue eyes.
His chest tightened. When was he going to stop being hijacked by that memory?
‘Is this Davison still around?’ he asked.
‘Pete’s long gone,’ Strzelecki said. ‘But his mother is still here. In fact, I couldn’t name a committee she isn’t on.’
‘Is she genuinely interested in those causes?’
Strzelecki hummed disagreement. ‘I think Caro Davison only cares about what affects her.’
Linc knew the type; his stepmother, for one.
‘The summer Jacko Everton took off, Pete had a big thing for Mina,’ Strzelecki said. ‘According to his mother, Pete was headed for greatness and the daughter of a criminal wasn’t in his future. She hasn’t let up since. If you ask me though, I reckon she was more worried Mina’s dad would shout statutory rape.’
Linc couldn’t believe he’d heard right. ‘What—’
Riker’s phone burst into song. When he checked the number, he straightened up.
‘Yep … Sure … No worries … will do.’
‘Must be Kylie.’ Strzelecki raised the almost empty jug. ‘Another?’
Linc shook his head as a new cheer morphed into a groan and the little bloke reluctantly ordered a round. It looked like he’d
lost a bet. Wainright sat near the group with his hand to his ear and an ugly look on his face.
‘What did you mean by statutory rape?’ Linc asked.
‘Nothing in it,’ Strzelecki said. ‘Pete was a couple of years older than Mina, and my mum reckons everyone could see the way it was headed. Jacko Everton certainly wasn’t going to let that happen.’
‘That doesn’t sound like the kind of father who would just take off.’
Riker snapped his phone shut. ‘Man! She rang to remind me we need bread and milk and can I get a few blocks of chocolate because the girls are coming over for a movie marathon while I make myself scarce.’
Strzelecki laughed. ‘No sympathy here, mate. I’d love a bunch of Kylie’s sexy friends sitting on my couch.’
‘You’re a sad case, Strez.’ Riker turned to Linc. ‘Do you mind if I ask one more question?’
‘Let the man have his drink.’
Linc liked that Riker showed an interest. It meant he wasn’t as indifferent to the job as he sometimes seemed. ‘What do you want to know?’
Riker scratched his head. ‘For the robberies to be part of something bigger, they all have to have some connection, right?’
Linc nodded. Strzelecki leaned forward, his face flushed with interest.
‘Except for a fancy clock and a giant candelabra, it’s all small stuff.’ Riker shook his head. ‘Sometimes they didn’t take anything, just roughed up the homeowner. I can’t see the connection.’
‘I could be wrong,’ Linc said.
‘But you don’t think you are.’
‘Not yet.’ Linc laughed.
‘Why not?’
‘You’ve heard of chaos theory.’ He waited until they agreed. ‘Sometimes looking for clues is the same. You have to keep going through the evidence until you see a pattern.’
He was about to explain further when he noticed Wainright hovering nearby.
‘Go on.’ Strzelecki was just as eager as his partner.
Linc lifted his beer. The pub was noisy enough, but he wasn’t going to underestimate Wainright a second time. ‘Shouldn’t talk business when you’re celebrating.’
‘Oh, crap. The shopping.’
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