This I Would Kill For

by Anne Buist

  ‘How does she get on with them?’

  ‘Amy is her best friend but Matilda is the one that’s desperate to be. Between you and me, she’d be far more loyal and deserving. Amy suffers from princess syndrome—Chelsea’s a smart girl, but she’s totally mesmerised.’

  Smart, but beholden to the domineering bossy girl. Possibly an appealing sense of certainty for someone dealing with their parents’ separation.

  ‘What’s Chelsea like in class?’

  ‘Generally quiet, compliant, a joy to have here.’

  Which might mean that she was actually depressed or anxious; some children, especially girls, tended to withdraw when they weren’t managing psychologically. Faced with similar circumstances, Chris was bouncing off walls. He’d be causing havoc by the time he got to school if Jenna and Malik didn’t manage to contain him with some tough love.

  ‘Have you noticed any change in the last six months, since her parents separated?’

  Gaylene thought a moment. ‘Not really. There was a bit of a kerfuffle a month or so back, but I’m pretty sure Amy was behind that. And then more recently when Matilda didn’t get invited to Amy’s party.’ Gaylene sighed. ‘We suggest to parents that either the whole class gets invited or it’s very small. The Walkers decided to ignore that suggestion. Or more likely Amy nagged them into it and they gave in for an easy life.’

  ‘Chelsea though. Is she quieter, more withdrawn, less interested? More daydreaming, more sick days?’

  ‘Perhaps a little.’ Gaylene looked at Natalie curiously. ‘What’s this all about?’

  ‘I’m just trying to determine for the court how much the breakup is affecting Chelsea,’ said Natalie.

  ‘Well she isn’t alone. Matilda’s parents broke up last year and there was an intervention order out against the father for DV. He turned up to try and get the children—there’s an older boy as well—and we all but went into lockdown.’ She narrowed her eyes. ‘What is expected of teachers is too much.’

  Natalie wasn’t about to disagree, if for no other reason than the torture she had inflicted on her own teachers.

  ‘You said perhaps?’ Natalie prompted, shifting in the chair and nearly tipping it over.

  Gaylene nodded, got up and went to Chelsea’s desk and took a couple of books out.

  ‘See here,’ she said, flicking through some pages. ‘Normally she’d have done twice as much just because she would finish early and get bored. Now she just keeps the same pace as everyone else.’

  Natalie took the books. The outside had neat careful letters with Chelsea’s name and year and her teacher’s name. Inside the pages were meticulously filled out; the first half had borders around them in different designs and colours. The last ten or so did not. A definite change.

  ‘What are her favourite things?’

  ‘Reading and drawing; most of the children like drawing, but she’s a very good little reader. Comes up with some extraordinary questions.’

  ‘Like?’

  ‘She read The Lightning Thief. It’s kind of a modern Greek classic, quests and monsters.’ Gaylene shook her head. ‘Chelsea pestered me to explain about why Percy, the hero, felt he had to save the world. Seemed like she had seen his bad behaviour and getting into trouble and couldn’t work out how or why he had changed. Can you believe it?’ She laughed. ‘The others that are up to reading it just love the adventure. But not Chelsea. She has an old head on those shoulders.’

  The head might have got a bit older and sadder because of what was happening at home. No sex-related questions at least.

  ‘And has she been off sick at all?’

  Gaylene shook her head. ‘Maybe one day. She had a twisted ankle and couldn’t do sport for a while, but still came to school.’

  ‘Does she like sport?’

  ‘I don’t think so, but a lot of the girls don’t. They prefer to stay indoors. They generally like the cross-country because you get to go to the parks, but Chelsea had her sore ankle then and stayed back with me.’

  ‘Who takes sport?’

  ‘Ted Beahre.’ Gaylene laughed when she saw Natalie’s look of disbelief, and spelled the name out for her. ‘His name’s Edward. Doomed to be nicknamed Ted wasn’t he?’

  ‘Does she have any other teachers?’

  ‘Fiona, the Year Four teacher, takes them for Japanese; a student teacher occasionally.’

  ‘Could I speak with Teddy? I mean Ted? Is he around?’

  He was in the staff room. Natalie had a hard time supressing a grin—he looked like a teddy bear: short, slightly portly—workouts perhaps not as tough as they had once been—soft features and a smile that would have made him a contender to run Play School. The smile faded when Gaylene introduced Natalie.

  ‘What’s it about?’ The tone wasn’t aggressive, but there was a clear defensiveness.

  ‘I’m treating her,’ said Natalie. ‘There’s been some issues since her parents broke up.’

  Was it her imagination or did Teddy Bear relax a little? ‘Sure. I’m about to leave, though.’

  Natalie offered to buy him a coffee at one of the cafés along his way home. He hesitated, then agreed. Natalie sensed that he was doing so only to avoid being seen as uncooperative.

  ‘Tell me about Chelsea,’ said Natalie as they walked.

  ‘What do you want to know? She’s one of the easy group.’

  ‘Easy group?’

  ‘Yeah. There’s three groups—the easy ones do as they’re told and you know you can rely on them. The troublemakers you can rely on to do something they shouldn’t and you watch them really closely when there’s an opportunity for havoc or danger, like when you’re spread out on the cross-country run.’

  ‘And the third group?’

  ‘They’re the troubled kids. They can cause trouble, sure, but they’re mostly struggling. Got some Aspies in that group, good kids but they look at a ball like they’ve only ever seen one on a computer screen. Others are…’ He shrugged. ‘You’re the shrink. I don’t know. ADHD, depressed? Both? I do my best to help them.’

  ‘So Chelsea’s never needed extra help or caused trouble?’

  Ted flashed her a look. ‘No.’

  They arrived at a café with bright coloured outdoor tables and chairs, and both ordered coffee. Natalie had had her quota of tea for the day.

  ‘Anything about her ever worry you?’

  ‘Nope.’

  Why then wouldn’t he look at her when he said this? Natalie’s skin started to prickle. There was a softness about the man; he would have been easy to write off as a kindly teacher who liked his job. Possibly, maybe even probably, gay. But she remembered the softness that had been weakness in some paedophiles she had interviewed. He was hiding something.

  ‘Chelsea missed a few sports lessons and the cross-country. Was there any suggestion she was playing on a lesser injury to get out of running for any reason?’

  ‘Like what?’ Ted was now looking right at her, lips tight.

  ‘Like some other kid or kids might trip her up or something.’

  Ted shook his head slowly. ‘The troublemakers group, all boys incidentally, pick on one girl, an overweight kid who’s doing it tough. I stay with her when we go out—she’s one of the slower ones anyway so it means I bring up the rear. Chelsea would be among the fastest girls. She probably could have outrun most of them.’

  Natalie tried a different tack. ‘Have you met her parents?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Tell me your impressions.’

  Ted added some sugar to the coffee that arrived. ‘Her mother’s a bit helicopter.’

  The parent that got overinvolved—didn’t surprise Natalie. But surely most parents were ‘a bit’. ‘In what way?’

  ‘There on the sidelines, which is fine, but probably a bit too keen that Chelsea gets into everything.’

  ‘And her dad?’

  ‘More relaxed.’

  ‘He comes to things too?’

  ‘Yeah. As I recall, Chelsea tend
s to go to him first, like when she won last year. Eyes really lit up when he told her she had run like…’ Ted thought. ‘Ivanovic. EPL player, Chelsea I think.’

  ‘Was Jenna part of that exchange?’

  Ted shook his head. ‘Think she’s preoccupied with the little boy, Chelsea’s brother.’

  ‘Have you seen anything odd with Chelsea? Anything at all? Particularly, maybe, with the boys?’ Sexual behaviour was not uncommon in children who were being sexually abused—and there had been the questions about pregnancy.

  ‘Who sent you?’

  Wow. Defensive or what?

  ‘Like I said: I’m working with Chelsea.’ Natalie paused. ‘Who do you think I might have been sent by?’

  Ted shook his head, anger barely concealed. ‘Forget it. Nothing. All I want is to do my job.’

  Natalie looked at him hard, wondered about taking a gamble, and if she did, which way to play it. ‘Look,’ she said finally, ‘I’m a psychiatrist and no one has sent me with a special agenda. But I do want to help Chelsea, and every instinct I have says there is something you aren’t telling me. Want to come clean now, or do you want me to find out later?’

  ‘I don’t have to talk to you. You aren’t a parent.’ He left before she could say anything more.

  30

  Natalie sat in the beer garden at Grumpy’s on Smith Street, lucky enough to grab a table just as a couple were leaving. She wondered if she liked this better than France-Soir. More down to earth. But the food had been pretty brilliant at Liam’s local, with a touch of French flair she could get used to.

  ‘Looking good.’ Damian’s voice came from behind her, calm as ever. He kissed her cheek and the touch, however brief, was welcome, like a small reminder that she wasn’t totally alone.

  ‘Me or the bean?’

  ‘You’re still in one package aren’t you?’

  ‘I’m fine.’ She sounded curt; knew he’d pick that. She took a breath. Damian had taken his tie off but looked like he was still in work clothes. The dark blue trousers and white shirt, though not uniform, still screamed cop. Maybe it was the short hair—he’d seen the barber. Or just that he looked so damn squeaky clean, schoolboy smile and all.

  ‘Bad news?’ he asked as he sat down, beer from the bar in hand.

  ‘No, what makes you think that?’

  Damian smiled; more like sad older brother than schoolboy. ‘It isn’t only shrinks that read body language, you know.’

  Natalie shrugged. ‘It’s been a shitty week. I don’t have the results yet, if that’s what you’re thinking.’

  ‘Problems with O’Shea?’

  Natalie took a sip of water. ‘Among other things.’

  ‘He hasn’t gone back to his wife, has he?’

  ‘No, no; nothing like that.’ Had Damian sounded hopeful? ‘Just…well, he has kid problems and he needs to sort them out before…’

  ‘Before what, Natalie?’

  ‘Nothing. It’ll work itself out one way or another.’ She took a breath. ‘Any chance you can get me info about a schoolteacher?’

  ‘So this is work?’

  ‘No.’ Natalie rubbed her head. Well, actually, yes. Otherwise she’d have told him when he texted that she didn’t think seeing him was a good idea. Particularly if Liam was right, and Damian still had hopes they’d get together.

  ‘Look,’ she said. ‘This guy was hiding something and I’ve got an eight-year-old I’m working with even though I never work with eight-year-olds and the judge has landed me in it and so has Declan and that’s just my work life let alone anything else, like the tweets about me and the case and my brother is working for my patient because I was stupid enough to give him a card and I’m still angry at my mother and—’

  ‘Whoa! Take a breath. I don’t understand half of what you just said and that may be a good thing.’ His look said When did you last take your meds?

  Natalie closed her eyes and tried to tap into mindfulness, but couldn’t even think of one line of the mantra. Breathe. Yes, that had to be part of it. Breathe. Concentrate. Could she? On what?

  ‘Can you check out this teacher for me? Teddy Bear. I mean Edward Beahre. Find out if he is being investigated? I really need to know and—’

  Damian looked startled. Because of the weird name or had he heard of him? ‘I’m Homicide, Natalie. I can’t ask those questions without a good reason and couldn’t tell you even if I did get an answer.’

  Her breathing seemed to echo in her head, like sounds bouncing off canyon walls, booming noises swirling around her. She got up and exited the garden, through the bar and onto the street. It took Damian until the next corner to catch her.

  ‘Natalie, stop.’ His arms were around her. Confining. Claustrophobic. But also containing. She hit him but there was no swing. He wouldn’t have even felt it as he held her to him, until slowly she could breathe.

  ‘Better?’ Damian asked after what seemed like ten minutes had passed.

  She nodded. ‘Shit. Sorry. I just…oh what the fuck. I am fucked.’

  Damian grabbed her arm. ‘I’ll walk you home and we’ll order take-away. And maybe—’ He was grappling with how to tell her she was acting nuts.

  ‘Yeah, I’ll take some extra meds.’ Another quetiapine. Minimum risk to the bean and probably better than the buzz of adrenaline that was heading its way unless she got on top of things.

  Damian phoned for a pizza and she risked the salami. The baby had most of its bits now. Then, at his suggestion, they went for ice-cream.

  ‘They’re prettier than the ones I had as a kid,’ said Damian. He was looking at a concoction of bright green, chocolate with bits of Crunchie bars and a pink scoop with marshmallow. ‘Not sure they taste any better.’

  ‘Our tastebuds have altered. Ice-cream then, bourbon now.’

  ‘Is it hard not drinking? Because of the pregnancy?’ Damian sat down on the bench beneath three large gumtrees.

  ‘No.’ Natalie looked at him. He wasn’t just protecting a baby he seemed to think might be his. He had his guard down and was interested. In her. ‘Actually…the only difficult thing is…the uncertainty.’ She took a breath. ‘I’ll have the results soon.’

  Damian nodded. ‘You know—I always figured I’d love being a dad. When I found out it wasn’t likely to happen, it really rocked me.’ He smiled. ‘I guess you’re going to think I doubted my manhood or something?’

  ‘Did you?’

  ‘No. It just meant there was going to be something missing. I haven’t really resolved it yet.’

  ‘Missing, as in, no son to ride the waves with?’

  Damian looked a little sheepish. ‘Hadn’t occurred to me.’ He thought for a moment. ‘I guess if I had a girl I’d picture her dancing. Maybe a boy too, if he didn’t go the footy or surfing route.’

  Natalie’s eyes widened. ‘Dancing?’

  ‘I was state under-eighteen Latin-American runner-up.’ He grinned. ‘Robbed of the trophy.’

  Natalie started laughing. Thought of herself at sixteen watching Flashdance and deciding, with her leg in a cast and her pelvis smashed up from the bike accident, that she’d never dance like that but that maybe she could sing like Irene Cara. She saw Damian’s expression and took his hand. Time to head home.

  ‘I like the idea of you dancing. It’s just that—I would never have guessed it. And I’m usually really good at guessing things like that.’

  Damian squeezed her hand. It felt better than it should have. He was probably imagining himself taking his daughter to a deb ball. Jesus. Any daughter she had would be sneaking out the upstairs window to get to a heavy metal concert, not letting her dad teach her the cha-cha.

  ‘So you’re waiting until this result?’

  ‘I guess. Hoping.’ Damian offered her a lick of his key-lime-pie ice-cream.

  ‘You told me you were infertile, right? One in a million?’

  There was just a fraction of a pause. ‘That’s what the specialist told Caitlin and me.’

  Cai
tlin who had gone on to have a baby with his mate. Natalie breathed a little easier.

  By the time they arrived back at the warehouse the ice-creams were finished. Damian didn’t look like he expected an invitation in, brushing her cheek with his lips before he turned to leave. There was a noise behind them in the cul de sac and they both tensed.

  Her first thought was that it was Liam preparing for pistols at dawn. But it was Blake.

  ‘My brother,’ said Natalie. Damian smiled, extended his hand.

  ‘Damian,’ she added, ‘is a cop.’

  Blake’s smile dimmed a little. After the door was closed he went to the windows, probably to check that Damian had really left.

  Natalie put a hand on his shoulder. ‘So, what’s up?’

  ‘Nothing.’ He saw her expression. ‘I’m missing a box. Must have left it here.’

  ‘Toys, right? One box of Chinese knock-offs? I can see why you’re worried.’

  Blake ignored the sarcasm. ‘I’ll just get it now, okay? Youssef’s in the truck.’

  ‘What’s in the box, Blake?’

  ‘I told you. Toys.’ Blake was already disappearing back downstairs to look for it. Natalie was right on his heels. Sure enough, there was a box, hidden under her gym gear. She crossed her arms and stood between it and her brother. ‘I want to see what’s in it.’

  Blake assumed an injured look, but he opened the box.

  Bratz dolls. Blake went to close the box flap. He was still smiling. But sweating. Natalie reached into the carton. Were these things stuffed with drugs? If so, she’d fucking well call Damian back. They seemed hollow…Natalie dug deeper. Hit something that wasn’t a Bratz doll box. Pulled at it. Blake’s smile was decidedly forced.

  This box was labelled in Chinese. She opened it and stared. ‘Shit, Blake—what the fuck…a gun?’

  ‘It’s a toy,’ said Blake, ‘like I said.’

  Natalie picked up the gun. Looked at it closely. ‘Might not be real, Blake, but they’re still illegal. Right?’

  Blake shrugged. ‘They aren’t doing anyone any harm. And I’ve got a buyer.’