Pieces of a Lie

by Rowena Holloway

  And Evertons ran.

  She longed for the warm comfort of her dog. Oh God. Spirit. Was he still in her car? What would happen to him? That Johnstone woman might even claim he was a dangerous dog. He was big, even for a husky. People distrusted big dogs. What if Spirit tried to guard her car? They might think he was vicious, put one of those ropes around his neck and cart him off to be destroyed. And it would be her fault. If she hadn’t been so bloody-minded about finding her dad, hadn’t let Carlson manipulate her into thinking Bernie was Jacko, if she’d just once sought Linc’s counsel instead of kicking against his authority, against her horror at loving a cop—

  Love? She’d convinced herself it was lust that made her throw herself at him that night in his room, but she’d convinced herself of so much. She loved Linc. She’d been fighting it since the day they met. And now it was too late.

  Mina buried her face in her hands and sobbed. She couldn’t save Linc and she would never see her dog again. The police would find her. Though badly lit, it was only a few steps from the fire exit to the bins. The gates were locked. There was nowhere for her to go. They’d cart her off in handcuffs, make a pretence at hearing her story, all the while convinced she lied, and badgering her until she gave them a version of the truth they could twist to suit their own agenda. It was what they’d done to her mother. Tried to. Her mother had held firm, been strong. But her mother hadn’t killed a man.

  §

  Crying. At first he’d thought it was an injured bird. Perhaps a child. The keening came from behind the huge dumpster in the fenced, concrete yard behind the apartment building. In the poor security light shining above the exit he could just make her out, huddled behind the bin, her arms wrapped around her bare legs.

  ‘Mina?’

  She raised her face. Didn’t speak.

  ‘Come out. Let me help you.’

  ‘Are you real? Of course you’re not real. It’s too late. It’s too late for all of us.’

  Her gabbling alarmed him, but he’d seen victims of trauma react in bizarre ways and she had been through so much before Carlson got his claws into her. And in some ways, she was right. It was too late to help Gibson. Too late to stop her falling in with Carlson. Too late for the love that might have grown between them. Had been from the moment he came to Failie, all principled and determined to get his career back on track. Perhaps even from the moment Jacko Everton had embezzled the development fund. Yet it wasn’t too late to save her from this.

  ‘Mina, come out. Let me help you.’ He held out his hand.

  She got to her feet and moved toward him but stayed behind the dumpster, mumbling something about death. He stepped forward and took her hand. She let him pull her close then she touched his face. Her cry tore at his heart and as her knees gave way he caught her and held her close.

  ‘The cufflink,’ she said. ‘Blood. They showed me a picture.’ She looked up at him, her huge eyes bloodshot and shadowed with pain. ‘Carlson. He’s dead.’

  ‘Carlson’s not dead.’ She wasn’t making much sense, but she must understand that.

  ‘He’s okay? Are you certain?’

  The knot in his chest tightened. Was her question driven by concern for herself or Carlson? He still had his arms around her and she rested her head against his chest. It felt right, but if anyone caught them like this, any chance he had of helping her was ruined.

  ‘He was so still,’ she said. ‘The elevator was coming back up. I didn’t mean to hit him so hard.’

  ‘Don’t say a word. Wait for a lawyer.’ It came out like a caution.

  Mina pulled away, and it was like he’d lost a piece of himself. The look she gave him was confused and tear-filled. She pressed shaking fingers to her eyes. He wanted to pull her back into his arms, to tell her everything would be fine, that he believed in her. But touching her would make what he had to do harder. The rightness of evidence to determine guilt and innocence was the cornerstone of his belief. He’d found and handed over the evidence that stitched up his own brother, for Christ’s sake, but back then the black and white world of policing had seemed so straightforward. With Mina it was different. Now he didn’t just see the grey area in between. He saw an entire spectrum. If he gave her the break she needed, she could disappear like her father. Forbes would keep quiet. The guy obviously loved Mina. Exactly what type of love it was had Linc stumped, but that was none of his business. They’d both made that clear.

  He turned away.

  ‘Where are you going?’ She sounded panicked.

  He had to tell her something, but if he told her he was undecided about taking her in he’d have to explain that she meant more to him than the job he’d lived for. With so much in the balance he should say it, but even now, when he was on the verge of destroying his career for her, he couldn’t lay himself bare.

  ‘Linc?’

  He turned. She stood so close he saw the shadow of a bruise on her jaw. Before he could speak she pressed something small and square into his palm.

  ‘Carlson took me to the woolshed. I thought I was dead. I thought—’ Her voice shook, but her gaze stayed steady. ‘I could only think of you. How much I wanted to be with you and how I messed it up. Whatever happened, I wanted to save you and save your case. I wanted to make it right.’

  ‘Mina, I—’ She’d opened her heart to him and he still couldn’t say it. He looked at what she’d given him. An iPod.

  ‘It’s a recording of the meeting between Carlson and his buyers—and me.’ She kept her gaze on the dirty concrete. ‘I got everything I could without giving myself away. I wasn’t really sure what you’d need.’

  The silence between them was filled with the hum of traffic and the voices of paramedics and forensics officers.

  ‘Wait until it quiets down. Go to Forbes. He’ll help you.’

  ‘You want me to run?’ She looked at him in surprise.

  ‘I’m giving you a chance.’ He took in the confusion on her face, the way her hazel eyes had turned almost amber. ‘It’s what I should have done from the start.’

  She shook her head. ‘I won’t let you do that.’

  God, even now she was stubborn. ‘Don’t you realise? You are wanted for questioning in Gibson’s murder—’

  ‘I did not kill Gibson.’ She lifted her chin. ‘We argued, but I didn’t kill him. Don’t I have the right to prove my innocence?’

  Her innocence. It was at the heart of his dilemma. If he’d been more himself when he first arrived, hadn’t been so determined to wrap the case up and get back to his life in Sydney, if he had bothered to treat her like a person and not acted like a horny adolescent, he wouldn’t have let himself be swayed by gossip. He would have seen who she really was.

  ‘Don’t ruin yourself for me, Linc.’ She reached out and curled his fingers around the iPod. ‘Just bring Carlson down.’

  Mina was right. She did deserve the opportunity to prove her innocence. He’d been so busy hiding behind his whole ‘court of law’ arguments that he had overlooked the basic tenet of that law. Yet it was risky. With this evidence, prosecution could make a pretty solid case against her. He hoped whatever was on that recording was worth it.

  ‘I’ll take you to the station.’ He handed her his phone. ‘Call Forbes on the way and get him to arrange a lawyer. A brilliant one.’

  ‘Carlson’s got a locked room in the penthouse,’ she said, ‘and Riker mentioned torture.’

  ‘What do you know about Riker?’

  ‘He’s with Carlson. Was.’ Her voice trembled. ‘Tiny killed him. At the woolshed.’

  ‘Don’t say any more until you see a lawyer.’

  ‘You don’t believe me.’

  Linc squeezed her hand. ‘It’s not me you have to convince.’

  He reluctantly let go and hailed Peterson to unlock the gate. He didn’t dare reveal his feelings in front of the others. It was important that he remained impartial, or appeared to. For the first time in years, he wished he had finalised his legal studies. He’d
always viewed defence lawyers with suspicion, if not outright contempt, but now he saw the necessity of a good defence and wished he could do that for her.

  Mina grabbed his arm. ‘Will you check on Spirit for me? I left him in my car, outside Bernie Johnstone’s place.’

  There had been no mention of a dog in her car when they took it to the impound lot.

  ‘I will.’ They’d reached his car. ‘You’ll have to sit in the back. I’m sorry.’

  ‘Get your men to check that locked room in the penthouse, the one with the keypad.’

  ‘They have.’ He liked that she called them his men. ‘There’s nothing in there but a big screen TV and lots of porn.’

  ‘Uh-uh. He bragged about his collection, made it sound creepy. And he wouldn’t lock up porn. Look again.’

  §

  DeSoto found it. The forensic trainee had been going through the extensive array of porn DVDs in Carlson’s secret room in an attempt at thoroughness that fooled no one. Peterson had ceased trying to give him another task.

  ‘Got it,’ DeSoto announced. He pressed a button in the recess of the shelving beneath the television. ‘Open Sesame.’

  The wall that housed the big screen swung backwards. Behind it was a treasure trove that would stitch Slab Carlson up for more than theft and money laundering. When DeSoto realised what he was looking at, he dumped the contents of his stomach all over the floor.

  They hung in frames on the walls, were displayed like gems in glass cases, and dangled like mobiles from the ceiling. Dozens of them.

  Peterson roped in Linc and Dubois and together they photographed, catalogued and bagged every gruesome item. Then Dubois checked the cabinet sitting against the far wall. Inside was a bar fridge. A lone container sat on the middle shelf. Dubois photographed it before lifting it from the fridge. Liquid sloshed around inside as she set it on top of the cabinet and removed the lid.

  ‘This one’s still fresh,’ she said.

  The tattoo was of a phoenix, its long tail feathers curled like lengths of ribbon, its fiery wings stretched wide. The colourful bird had its head thrown back as if looking at the sky with ecstasy. The pale skin on which it had been inked was almost hairless.

  Chapter 52

  TWO WEEKS LATER, MINA hummed to herself as she crossed the backyard. All day the air had throbbed with the promise of something fierce, and grey clouds hung over the horizon, but her head was filled with sunshine. She was actually doing it. Leaving. Cutting everything that tied her to Failie and the past.

  Once she’d made the decision to let Jacko go, the rest had been easy. Except for telling Forbes. She’d told herself she didn’t want to worry him during the election campaign, and then that she didn’t want to dent his joy at winning. The truth was he’d just try to talk her out of it. Not about selling up. He’d been on about that for too long. But he wouldn’t want her to leave. He’d steamroller her into moving into his house, and life would settle into a rhythm too stifling to survive. It had to be a clean break. A new life. One where she could be herself without all the baggage.

  The only dark spot was Spirit. Every so often she thought she caught a glimpse of him only to discover she’d imagined it. Several times in the last two weeks, she thought she heard him down by the old workshop, yet when she got there the only answer to her calls was a possum rustling in the wattle trees. She missed rubbing her cheek against his thick fur and the companionship of him at her side. It was hardest at night, when she reached out for the comfort of his steady heartbeat and realised he wasn’t there. It was then that Forbes’ certainty she’d imagined Spirit began to take hold and she wondered if she could have conjured him, just as Forbes claimed she’d done as a teenager. She had no memory of that. When she’d tried to get the details out of Forbes, he’d refused to be drawn. Since Spirit had disappeared, he’d become strangely silent about the dog, but they’d barely had a real conversation since Carlson’s arrest, perhaps each too afraid of what might be said.

  The screen door squealed as she stepped into the kitchen and collected another packed box marked for charity.

  ‘You look like someone who’s made a decision, babe.’

  She gasped and stepped backward. The box hit the floor with a thud. Carlson! How could that be?

  ‘What are you doing here?’ She managed to keep the tremor out of her voice.

  ‘You need a hint?’

  The darkening sky couldn’t hide the gleam in his eyes or the mess of his face. Her head filled with the repetitive rasp and snap of his flick-knife. His other hand rested on a copy of The Messenger newspaper. He must have brought it with him because as soon as she’d glimpsed the front page image of Forbes and Drummond shaking hands, she’d tossed hers.

  ‘I see your mate’s mayor now. That’s gonna come in handy.’

  ‘He won’t help you.’

  ‘Is that right? I reckon there’s a way or two I can convince him.’

  From the meagre pickings in her fruit bowl, Carlson selected an under-ripe banana. He grinned at her and put the blade to the black stem, making sure she watched as he sliced at the young skin.

  ‘Took my guys two weeks to spring me outta that shithole they call a remand centre.’ He laid the strip on the table and proceeded to remove another thin slice of skin. ‘Do you know how much those weeks cost me?’

  She couldn’t pull her gaze away from his steady hands, couldn’t stop thinking how the sticky flesh came away so easily at the deft touch of his blade.

  ‘Drummond will be here any minute,’ she said.

  ‘Ain’t that nice.’ He laid another strip alongside the first. ‘Now that you’ve ruined me, you want to save me from the cops.’

  ‘Leave now. I won’t tell anyone you’ve been here.’

  ‘You hear that, Tiny?’

  ‘Yeah, boss.’

  She twirled in the direction of the baritone. The huge Maori blocked the back door. She hadn’t heard the hinges squeal.

  ‘Bargaining,’ Carlson said. ‘Doesn’t take them long to get here, does it?’

  ‘No, boss.’

  ‘Should have done that earlier, Everton. Bargaining.’ Carlson peeled another strip. There was barely any skin left now. ‘You and me could’ve worked well together. The way you milked those dealers was really something. They never took to Gibbo. Too up himself, for one thing. Didn’t have the tits, for another.’

  ‘Am I supposed to be flattered?’

  Her voice came out reedy and Carlson smiled as he laid his knife alongside the peelings. He tapped his fingers on the table like he was gathering his thoughts, but his face said he’d come with a plan. The methodical drumming chipped at her control. She couldn’t drag her gaze away from those blunt fingers with their incongruously manicured nails.

  ‘I guarantee right now your little heart’s like a drum roll. Odd that. The slower my fingers go, the faster their chicken hearts beat.’

  A dog’s bark broke the spell. Spirit. Thank God! He sounded close, near the back door. If she could just get past the big Maori—

  ‘Don’t even think it, babe. You’re all alone. No one cares. No one’s coming for you.’

  Mina willed away the prick of tears. Her temper had left her with no friends and ruined her relationship with Forbes. Yet Linc would come. She’d accepted after all that had happened, they could never be together, but when he heard of Carlson’s escape, he’d know to come. She had to believe that.

  She lifted her chin and held Carlson’s gaze. ‘Linc will find you.’

  He chuckled. ‘Word around the station is he thinks you’re one hot ticket in bed but nuttier than a bag of fruit, as my bitch ma used to say.’

  That she knew he lied didn’t soften the blow. The sting behind her eyes got worse, but she wouldn’t let this creep make her cry again.

  ‘You don’t know anything, Carlson.’

  ‘Cooler than a fridge, this one, Tiny.’

  ‘Yeah, boss.’

  ‘Watch this, babe.’ Carlson laid his knife upon t
he last centimetre-wide strip of skin and shaved the finest line from its edge. It curled in upon itself and dropped to the table. He did it again. Faster this time. ‘Know where I learned that control? Practice. Of course, it’s a bit messier on people. They tend to struggle.’

  A wave of nausea washed over her. If Tiny hadn’t taken hold of her arms she would have collapsed.

  ‘Show us some of that spirit you had at my place,’ Carlson said. ‘It’ll be a good test of my skills.’

  §

  Forbes stood among the crowd of well-wishers and let Ronny Clarke shake his hand like he was working a pump handle.

  ‘Congratulations, Forbsey. Those are some fancy duds you’re sporting.’

  Forbes laughed. He was finally wearing the coveted Robes of Office. It was the sort of get-up you’d only wear in the street if you were nine bucks short of a tenner—or wanted the crap kicked out of you. But they weren’t about fashion. They were about tradition. Power. Achievement.

  Clarke kept talking at him, spruiking some development, hoping to slide his application through at the next council meeting by priming the new mayor. Forbes let him talk and allowed himself a moment to bask in his accomplishment, well aware that the gold Chain of Office with the fist-sized medallion sat well on his shoulders, glad he’d allowed himself a moment of vanity in the dressing room just off the mayor’s office. His office. The office of Mayor Forbes Monroe. He felt like hooting with joy.

  ‘Always knew you’d beat Daley at his own game,’ Clarke said.

  ‘Glad you did, mate. Wasn’t so sure myself.’

  It had been a tough few weeks. If Daley hadn’t pulled that stunt a couple of weeks earlier announcing the intended change to the constitution, the election might never have happened. Forbes had managed to scuttle the constitutional change with a couple of innuendos and a stream of rousing public words.