‘Yeah righto,’ replied Norton. Two more uniformed cops came running up the stairs to give the paramedics a hand followed by the forensic team with their aluminium cases and cameras. ‘You reckon we can get this over with pretty smartly Ray?’ he said as he followed the rangy detective back into flat. ‘I’d like to get to the shithouse out of here.’
‘Yeah sure Les,’ replied Detective Mattes. ‘I understand.’
The tall, young detective produced a small notebook and began taking down Norton’s version of what happened in the hallway; how he arrived on the landing just as Detective Simmiti shot the youth and how he’d found the baby and the dead mother. Norton watched the two young policewomen change the baby’s dirty nappy with a packet of clean disposable nappies they’d found in one of the bedrooms; it was then that the him turned out to be a her.
‘What happens to her now?’ Les asked one of the police-women as she searched the flat for something that would identify the two bodies.
‘She’ll be processed and if no relatives of the deceased come forward to claim her, she’ll become a ward of the state.’
‘Processed, eh? Just like a couple of kilos of sausages.’
‘It sounds worse than it is Les, I know,’ replied the young policewoman. ‘But she’ll be all right.’
‘I sure hope so.’ Norton looked softly at the tiny infant now sound asleep in the other policewoman’s arms and gently squeezed one of its tiny pink fingers. ‘She’s a pretty little thing.’
They stood looking at the baby while Detective Mattes went over Norton’s statement. The two morgue attendants in their white uniforms arrived with their stretchers and bodybags. One was eating an apple, the other a mandarin. They looked as though they’d just arrived at a friend’s place for a few drinks.
‘Two stiffs to take away — is that right?’ said the fair-haired one eating the apple dumping a body bag next to the dead girl on the lounge. ‘Will there be any french fries with that?’ he added, looking around the room.
By now Norton’s sense of humour had vanished, along with his appetite — he looked at the morgue attendant in disgust. ‘We gonna be much longer?’ he said, turning to Detective Mattes.
‘No. That should do it. But we’re going to have to go back to the station and type it up. That shouldn’t take long though.’ Norton nodded his head uninterestedly. ‘Okay Les,’ said Detective Mattes, pocketing his notebook. ‘Let’s get going then.’
As they started to walk out Norton stopped and had one last look at the baby snoring softly in the policewoman’s arms. He raised his hand to touch it, then let it drop — without saying a word he followed Detective Mattes down the stairs.
The Channel Ten Eyewitness News team had pulled up across the street and were forcing their way through the crowd out the front of the flats, followed by news teams from the other channels. One of the journalists spotted the blood on Norton’s jeans and started moving in their direction.
‘I’m not talking to no reporters,’ growled Norton to Detective Mattes.
‘Neither am I. Come on.’ They sprinted the short distance to Waverley police station.
‘You know it’s funny,’ said Norton, ‘that’s the same seat Fred was sitting in before he got shot.’ He had another quick glance around the room he’d been in earlier with Detective Mooney.
Detective Mattes smiled across at Les as he fed a sheet of paper into the typewriter. ‘I just got word back from the hospital. Fred’s going to be all right. He’s a bit shook up and he’s lost a bit of blood but he’s going to be as good as gold — thanks to you Les.’
Norton shrugged his shoulders. ‘That’s good,’ he said shortly.
He’d been sitting for about fifteen minutes, quietly watching while Detective Mattes thumped steadily away at the old typewriter, when Detective Simmiti walked in the door holding a brown paper bag, a big smile on his usually serious face.
‘I suppose you heard the news,’ he said. ‘Fred’s okay.’
‘Yeah, we did,’ replied Norton. ‘Unreal.’
Detective Simmiti placed the paper bag on the desk and looked at Norton for a second or two. ‘Thank’s Les,’ he said sincerely, reaching down and warmly shaking the big redhead’s hand. ‘Fred told me what happened when he was going up in the ambulance.’
‘You don’t have to thank me,’ shrugged Norton. ‘Fred’s an old mate.’
‘Thanks anyway Les.’
‘Yeah and that goes for me, too.’ Detective Mattes stood up from behind the typewriter and did the same thing.
‘Jesus what is this?’ said Norton, starting to feel a little embarrassed. ‘The next thing you’ll be wanting to give me a VC.’
‘Listen Les,’ said Detective Simmiti. ‘That could have been me at that door instead of Fred. And if Fred hadn’t made it — I’d have felt responsible.’
‘Yeah fair enough, I s’pose,’ replied Norton.
‘Anyway — I can’t give you a VC, but I don’t suppose you’d say no to a cool one.’ Detective Simmiti opened the brown paper bag and handed Norton a bottle of Reschs’ Premier Lager, then gave one to Detective Mattes.
‘Are you kidding. I’ve been fanging for a beer since bloody ten o’clock this morning.’ Norton tore the bottle out of Detective Simmiti’s hand and ripped off the ring-pull top. ‘Cheers boys,’ he said, and downed almost half of it in one go, followed by a huge, contented belch.
‘Where did you take Moon anyway?’ he asked, taking another swig on his bottle.
‘Up the War Memorial in Birrell Street,’ replied Detective Simmiti.
‘Oh yeah, up near Waverley College. Nothin’ but the best for Fred, eh?’
‘He asked if you’d go up and see him when you get a chance.’ Detective Simmiti screwed up his face. ‘He said something about hanging a picture up on a wall for him or something. I couldn’t quite follow him.’
Norton threw back his head and laughed. ‘I know what he means.’
While Detective Mattes finished typing up the statement the three of them knocked over the half-dozen beers, in a jubilant mood that everything had turned out for the best — especially with Fred. Detective Simmiti gave Norton the impression that he showed no remorse at all for the junkie he’d just shot — in fact he seemed almost glad he’d put him away. There was some feeling from the two detectives about the dead mother — about as much feeling as you can have for a junkie who’s OD’d — but they all agreed it was a crying bloody shame about the unfortunate little baby who’d been left behind. Eventually Norton got to his feet to leave.
‘Well fellas, I might get crackin’. I’ve seen enough of Waverley police station today to last me the rest of my life.’
‘Fair enough,’ said Detective Mattes, getting up; as he did Detective Simmiti reached across and closed the door behind them.
‘Listen Les,’ he said, the serious look back. ‘If ever you’re in any sort of strife — doesn’t matter what it is — you come and see me or Ray. All right?’
‘Yeah righto,’ nodded Norton.
‘Anything. Anything at all.’ Detective Simmiti emphasised the last words with a slashing motion of his hand. ‘You come and see me or Ray.’
‘Thanks. I’ll remember that.’ Norton shook hands with the two detectives once more and moved towards the door.
‘Can we give you a lift anywhere?’ asked Detective Mattes.
‘No it’s all right. I feel like going for a bit of a walk to tell you the truth.’ Norton said his last goodbyes and left the station. On the way out all the uniform cops gave him a big smile and most of them waved.
Outside in Birrell Street it still wasn’t only cold, the sun had started to go down and now it was cold, bleak and dark. Have a look at the time, thought Norton, checking his watch. Bloody near five o’clock. And Chicka closes at 4.30 sharp. That means no bloody car — and I’d have more chance of moving Ayers Rock than getting Chicka out of the Robin Hood to open the garage for me. Ah well, I can borrow Warren’s Celica for tonight I s’pose. He
turned the collar of his leather jacket up, jammed his hands in the pockets and headed towards Bondi Junction to have a couple more beers then catch a cab home.
The news teams had gone but there were still a few people standing outside the block of flats shuffling against the cold as they tried to get a look at what, they probably didn’t know themselves. A paddy wagon parked half up on the footpath indicated a police guard was still inside. Norton shook his head thoughtfully, stood for a moment and continued on his way.
At the Birrell Street corner he had to wait for the lights to change: as he stood in the cold wind a big smile spread across his face. Fuck it, he thought. I’ll duck up and see Moon, it’s only just up the road. He turned right and headed up Birrel Street towards the Waverley War Memorial hospital.
A sign at the entrance (in the same blue and gold colours as Waverley College) stood in front of what looked like a small cottage with ‘Winston O’Reilly Building’ written above the door. Behind a small reception desk Norton could see a sister, somewhere in her thirties, wearing an immaculate starched, white uniform and cap, shuffling some papers around. He walked up to her, and politely introduced himself. He told her exactly what had happened and would it be all right if he went and saw Detective Mooney for a few minutes? The sister was a little hesitant at first, then said it would be all right provided he wasn’t too long and he checked with the doctor if he happened to be outside the rooms. She then told him Detective Mooney was in room nineteen and how to get there.
Norton thanked her and followed a path through some beautifully landscaped gardens, past a small coffee shop and kiosk till he came to a white concrete courtyard surrounded by marble statues. Two more statues holding lights above their heads flanked a set of concrete steps that led up to the E. Vickery Memorial Building where Fred was. As he was about to climb the steps Norton noticed another blue and gold sign above the door of a large white building opposite saying briefly: ‘And He Healed Them’. He stopped at the bottom of the steps and looked up at the darkening sky. You didn’t bother to heal those two up in Birrell Street did you? he thought. Then again, I don’t s’pose they were really worth healin’, were they? He trotted up the stairs and went inside.
Jesus, this is all right, thought Norton, as he gazed around the red carpeted foyer surrounded by more smaller marble statues holding lamps, glass cabinets and carefully and tastefully hung antique oil paintings. This joint looks more like a palace than a hospital, he thought. If anything ever happens to me I hope I finish up in here. A massive crystal chandelier hung majestically above a red carpeted, oak staircase. There appeared to be no one around so he went straight up.
Room nineteen was like something you’d see in old, first-class English or European hotels: spacious, comfortable and centrally-heated. Detective Mooney was propped up in an enormous brass bed surrounded by huge, fluffy pillows and crisp, white sheets. His left leg was raised slightly in a sling and above his head a bottle led to an intravaneous drip in his arm. A smaller plastic tube was taped into his nose. He wasn’t asleep but was sedated and resting after his operation. He didn’t notice Norton enter the room until he was standing next to the bed.
‘Hello Moon. How’s things?’
Detective Mooney opened his eyes and blinked up at Norton’s smiling face several times before he spoke. ‘Les. Hey . . . How are you mate?’ His voice was understandably weak and he sounded tired and drowsy from the post-op sedation.
‘Good. How’s y’self. I just thought I’d call in and see if you felt like a game of squash.’
Detective Mooney smiled tiredly up at Norton. ‘I . . . didn’t bring a pair of white shorts with me . . . mate. Sorry.’
‘Oh well, don’t worry about it. Listen, I got a couple of young sheilas out in the car. You feel like a root? I’ll bring ’em in if you like. They’ve both got big tits.’
Fred tried to laugh but it finished up a series of weak coughs. ‘It’ll have to be . . . a quickie. I’ll tell you that.’
Norton sat down on a chair next to the bed and tapped Fred lightly on his good arm. ‘The head nurse says you’re okay and you should be up and about in a week or two.’
‘Yeah. I was . . . lucky. The bullet missed my heart by about two centimetres.’
‘I heard it was deflected off your wallet.’
‘I know one thing . . . Les. If it . . . hadn’t been for you I wouldn’t be here now.’
‘Oh bullshit.’
‘No Les. I owe you . . . my life.’
‘Get out. You owe me nothin’.’
There were a few seconds of awkward silence. Norton smiled across at his young detective mate. Fred held up his hand and shook Norton’s. The strength wasn’t there but the feeling was. Finally Les spoke.
‘So Moon, you’re first day, in the D’s eh? You were nearly like that pub down the Quay — the First And Last.’
‘I’m not real keen to get back . . . I’ll tell you. Fuck the heroics. I’ll settle for a . . . nice desk job when I do.’
Norton laughed and gave Fred an encouraging pat on the arm. He talked for a few more minutes till he could see Fred closing his eyes for longer periods of time.
‘Well Moon,’ he finally said, getting up from the chair, ‘I’d better get going and you’ve got to get some rest. I’ll duck up and see you through the week.’
‘Okay. Thanks for calling in.’
‘That’s all right.’
Detective Mooney looked up at Norton for a second or two before he spoke. ‘Listen Les,’ he said slowly. ‘If ever there’s anything I can do . . . anything at all . . . you come and see me. Okay? Any time at all.’
Norton started to laugh again. ‘Moon, I just got all this bullshit off Simmiti and Mattes back at Waverley,’ he said. ‘You don’t owe me nothin’ Moon. Forget it.’
‘Yeah. Well anyway . . . Les. If ever I can do anything . . . you let me know . . . all right? I owe you mate.’
‘Oh arseholes.’
Norton stood smiling at Fred for a moment or two longer. Although he’d been liberally dosed with morphine Fred was still obviously in a lot of pain yet was still doing his best to smile back. Norton shifted his gaze to a gap in the curtains covering a large sliding-glass door next to the bed, where he could see it was completely dark outside and hear the bitter sou’-wester as it whined through the power-lines and whipped around the statues with their soft lights illuminating the court-yard below. He could imagine how cold and miserable it would be walking back to Bondi Junction and he was a little reluctant to have to leave the soporific warmth of Fred’s centrally-heated room. But it would only be a matter of time before a nurse or a doctor came along and asked him to leave. He zipped up his leather jacket and clapped his hands together.
‘Anyway I’m going. I’ll see you through the week Moon.’
‘Righto Les. See you mate.’
‘See you Moon. Take it easy.’
Norton walked across to the door and opened it. As he did he stopped suddenly, slapped the back pocket of his jeans and slowly turned around, a strange grin on his face. He walked back over to the bed.
‘Hey Moon,’ he said thoughtfully. ‘Did you say, if ever I wanted anything, to see you? Anything at all?’
Detective Mooney looked up quizzingly at Norton. ‘Yeah. . . sure.’
‘Well here you are.’ Norton pulled the two summonses, still smeared with Fred’s blood, out of his back pocket and dropped them on the bed.
Detective Mooney looked at them, then back at Norton.
‘Parking tickets?’
‘Well you said anything didn’t you?’
Wheels
Standing in the milky shadows, cast by the pale, blue light of the Kelly Club, the faces on the two consorting squad detectives showed mild concern. They were speaking quietly to two solid doormen who were leaning casually against the wall on either side of the entrance. Les Norton and Billy Dunne’s faces, on the other hand, did show some concern but it was just as much curious amusement as anything else.
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Detectives Henderson and Teague had been scouring the traps around the Cross and the eastern suburbs looking for a certain Barry Chester Black. ‘Big Barry’, as he was nicknamed, was involved with some other gentlemen in massage parlours around the Cross and Double Bay; he also helped run a health studio in Coogee with an ex-prostitute Thelma Cowley. Big Barry had belted Thelma over some money and he’d also been shooting his mouth off a bit too much to the wrong people about the massage parlour rort and the word was out that Big Barry wasn’t going to be in this world a great deal longer. There wasn’t a great deal the two detectives could do about that, but they were rather keen to have a word with Big Barry before he went to meet his maker in the big massage parlour in the sky. The two doormen had assured the two detectives that Big Barry wasn’t on the premises nor had they seen him around for well over a week. Not that the two doormen would have concealed the fact if they had seen Big Barry. At times the consorting squad can be a doorman’s and a club’s best friend when it comes to getting rid of an undesirable. As Black, a hulking, brooding bully, was by no means the most popular man going around Sydney it was no skin of their noses what happened to him. But the boys genuinely hadn’t seen him and that was that.
However, the non-appearance of Barry Chester Black wasn’t what really concerned the two hard-faced detectives. The thing that concerned them the most was why Price Galese would want to close the Kelly Club at 11.30 — especially on a busy Saturday night — and this concern was well and truly registered on their faces as they stood on the footpath talking to Price Galese’s two best doormen.
‘What did Price say to you again?’ asked tall, fair-haired Detective Henderson, scratching his chin thoughtfully.
‘He didn’t say much at all,’ replied Billy Dunne, with a smile and a shrug of his shoulders. ‘We got here about nine and he rang up just before we arrived to tell us to close at 11.30 and make sure they’re all out by twelve.’ He nodded up towards the stairs leading into the club. ‘There wouldn’t be fifty people up there, just the regulars. And they’ll be gone in an hour,’ he added, glancing at his watch.
The Real Thing Page 9