The Spotted Dog

by Kerry Greenwood

  ‘At ease, Midshipman. Your breakfast will arrive as soon as Daniel can cook it for you. Please, take a seat. And what would you like to drink?’

  ‘Got any Coke?’

  ‘Sorry. But I have juice. Made from fruit and everything.’

  I gave him some pineapple and mango in a long glass and he gulped it down in one long, slow slurp. I watched, fascinated. Not for the first time I wondered where teenage boys manage to store all the food and drink they consume. He set the glass down, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand (reminding me at once of Horatio) and grinned at me.

  ‘You seem to have slept well?’ I suggested.

  He nodded.

  ‘Yeah, Cap’n, I always sleep well these days. And I love the weekends. I wake up at four, same as usual, have a Coke and go straight back to sleep again. I’d just woken up when you called.’

  ‘Same here. Jason, I’m happy to feed you today, but I was wondering if you knew anything about our home invasions.’

  His face instantly clouded over, with possible thunderstorms later on. I realised I had not expressed myself with anything like the delicacy requisite to the occasion. I plunged in at once before his feelings could be hurt any further.

  ‘Jason, let me hasten to assure you that I do not believe for a moment that you’re involved in anything untoward. I’m sorry. It probably sounded like that, but that was not what I meant at all. We think we have some possible clues, and we were wondering if you could enlighten us.’

  The atmosphere lightened visibly. Jason was so easy to read. Every passing thought showed in his face. It was just as well he was on the straight and narrow. He has no talent for dissembling.

  ‘Okay, I’m listening, Cap’n. What have you got?’ He leant back in his chair and stretched. His T-shirt rode up, showing his flat belly and navel; he was as unselfconscious as a cat.

  ‘Jason, what do you know about Kilmarnock?’

  That brought the thunderclouds back to his face, but a different set. This was fear rather than outrage.

  ‘You’re not thinkin’ of movin’ there, are ya, Cap’n? Don’t do it! It’s a bad place.’

  ‘No, we’re not going anywhere. We’re staying right here in Insula. But we think someone in Kilmarnock might be looking for us, and not in a good way. And we thought you might know people who know people …’ I left the sentence hanging. He caught on at once.

  ‘Well, yeah, Corinna. I’ve heard stuff.’ He placed both hands on his head and rubbed his scalp, for no reason I could see. ‘See, most people come into town to score. It’s still the biggest source of … stuff. There’s still lots of hangout places the cops don’t know about. And some of the guys I used to hang with … well, I see them sometimes.’

  ‘Do you give them anything?’

  He gave me a modest smile. ‘Yeah. Food, mostly. They hardly eat anything. And sometimes I’ll give them money, but not enough for them to score. Five bucks gives you a feed at Maccas, but you can’t buy anything else with that.’

  This was news to me, but I was delighted to hear it. This was Paying It Forward on steroids. Because I had helped him, he was helping his junkie friends.

  ‘All right, Jason, that’s very good of you. Really it is. But I’m going to ask you something very import–’

  He cut me off immediately, clever boy that he is. He already knew what I was going to ask, and shook his head with maximum prejudice. ‘No, Corinna. I’ve never let them into Insula. Because you can’t do that. They don’t want to screw you over, but they will if they see a chance to score. Cap’n, I know, ’cos I’ve been there. If I cook for them, I bring the food to them out on the street.’

  Did I believe him? Yes. He is utterly transparent. And if I couldn’t trust my midshipman to tell me the truth, what chance did any of us have? He’d never lied to me. Not even when he stole a bottle of grog and got pissed. Even then he had confessed, repented, and never slipped again.

  ‘Okay, Jason, I believe you. So what do you know about Kilmarnock? You do know a lot of people, don’t you? Have you heard something on the streets about it?’

  He shook his head. ‘I dunno why they’re coming here, but that’s not good. They’re bad men out there.’

  ‘Does Azerbaijan mean anything to you?’

  ‘Dunno, Cap’n. Never heard of him.’

  ‘Never mind. What sort of bad men?’

  He clasped his hands on the table. ‘Corinna, they’re gangsters. Real gangsters. They deal. And they shoot people. If they really don’t like you, they’ll blow up your house. Everyone’s scared of ’em.’

  ‘They sound like bad men all right,’ I agreed. ‘Do you know if there’s more than one gang?’

  He thought about this, closing his eyes and wrinkling his forehead.

  ‘Could be. ’Cos if there was only one gang they wouldn’t need to shoot people so much, would they?’

  ‘Jason, how much shooting are we talking about? How much blowing up of houses?’

  He sat forward in his chair, his nostrils twitching. The sounds and smells of frying emanating from my kitchen were speaking volumes to his animal instincts. He inhaled deeply and shook his head, wrenching his attention back to the matter at hand. ‘At least one house. Early this year. You might have seen it on the news.’

  I remembered it now. Police baffled; no one talking to anybody. But I expect the police knew more about it than they let on.

  ‘Go on. So just the one house?’

  ‘That’s one too many in my book. Shootings? At least three this year. I know they shot one of their own guys because he tried to go solo and they didn’t like it.’

  ‘I bet they didn’t.’ And that seemed to be that. Even if Jason had any more to tell me, it would have to wait, because Daniel appeared with enough food piled on a dinner platter to feed six people and the family dog. It was the same big breakfast Daniel had eaten, but with added hash browns. Jason fell on it ravenously and did not pause until the plate was swept clean down to the last crust of sourdough. I was impressed enough to venture a small handclap. He grinned. It was like the sun coming out from behind clouds.

  ‘Yeah, well, Corinna, I’ve got a lot of catching up to do.’ He looked at me expectantly. ‘Anything else I can help you with?’

  ‘Unless you can remember any snippets of conversation, no. Don’t try to force your memory. Just think about anything you may have heard about these creatures. We haven’t got much to go on here, and anything that sounds out of the usual run would be useful. And …’ I paused, not wanting to ask but unable to help myself. ‘Um, I don’t think I’ve ever asked you this, and it’s really none of my business, but I would love to know what you do on your days off. If you don’t mind telling me.’

  ‘Nah, no problem. ’Cos it’s Saturday I’ll be off to Anon.’

  I raised my eyebrows in query and he explained, ‘It’s like AA, only for drugs. We meet once a week and tell each other how we’re going.’

  ‘Jason, that’s wonderful. I never knew you were still going.’

  He nodded. ‘Yeah, well. I went there first up, but then I drifted away. I thought I could stay clean without help. Then one of me mates got off the stuff by going to Anon and he reminded me how helpful it was. And since then I’ve never even been tempted.’ He looked me straight in the eye. ‘I started going again when I nicked that bottle of grog from you, Cap’n. ’Cos I realised how much worse that coulda been. When you fall off, it’s a lot harder to get back on the bus.’

  I could see it now. Hi, my name is Jason and I’m here to tell you about the wonders of bread, and how it changed my life. Bread of heaven indeed. ‘You intrigue me,’ I said. ‘That’s brilliant. And what do you do after that? What does Saturday night have in store for you?’

  ‘I stay in, Cap’n.’

  What a great deal I was learning about Jason!

  ‘I stay in ’cos Mrs Dawson got me a subscription to Stan. So I stay in with a big bottle of Coke and some snacks and I catch up on all of the movies I missed w
hen I was too busy trying to score every night. I’m not putting meself in harm’s way. City’s not safe after midnight. But that’s all right ’cos I’m asleep by then.’

  ‘Jason, you are a wonderful man,’ I told him with perfect conviction. ‘So you’re still happy living this life?’

  He blinked at me in what looked like honest surprise. ‘Sure, Cap’n. I’m thinking about getting a cat. Or maybe a rabbit. Still tryin’ to decide which.’

  News to me, but okay.

  He gave me a shy look. ‘I never belonged anyplace before. I never knew who my dad was. He’s nothing to me. And all Mum cared about was getting the money she got for me until I turned sixteen and there wasn’t gonna be any more. But I’ve got a family now. My first.’

  I did not know what to say, so I smiled encouragingly. Then Daniel came in to clear away the crockery and cutlery, and Jason rose to his feet.

  ‘Thanks, Cap’n. See you first thing Monday.’

  And with that he was no longer with us.

  Daniel took my hand and kissed me. ‘Well, now. Who would have thought it?’

  I kissed him back. ‘Come back to bed and kiss me some more?’

  He took my hand and led me back to my room.

  Philomela: Today I am going to open my mouth and I really am going to speak. No doubt about it.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  I do begin to have bloody thoughts.

  WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE, THE TEMPEST, ACT 4, SCENE 1

  I woke later, barely aware of Daniel kissing me again and letting himself out to go on his travels. My alarm clock told me it was eleven forty-eight am. I felt exalted. I always did after a night (and indeed a morning as well) of my beautiful Daniel. My toes tingled. I stretched them luxuriously. I felt as though I was swimming on clouds, effortlessly, like a dolphin. I admire dolphins, even though I can’t swim as well as they do. And a glow of delight had settled over me. I found Horatio lying next to me with his paws in the air, sleeping like a satisfied bunny. Whatever sensual delights I was currently exuding from my body were clearly pleasing my cat as well. His whiskers twitched. I found myself crinkling my nose in sympathy. So whither now for my day off? My phone informed me it was thirty degrees outside, expected maximum thirty-six. I dressed casually, in a light cotton caftan and sandals, and the hell with anyone who would be shocked by the sight of me in semi-undress. I examined myself in the mirror. My face was grinning uncontrollably. The white fabric hinted rather than revealed. The hand-embroidered flowers, trees and parrots (supplied by Therese Webb, whom I had employed to do this) looked wonderfully brazen. For brazen was what I felt, as who would not?

  I examined my emails. A quick note from Mistress Dread, enjoying the comparative cool of Hobart. After a number of late-night BDSM sessions she had pronounced herself officially Fed Up with the heat and her clientele, and she had left her shop in the custody of a thin, colourless girl with magenta hair and a permanent expression of hand-crafted artisanal ennui. I had wandered in the day before (in my copious spare time) just to pass the time of day, but the girl appeared to have no interests. She reluctantly conceded that her name was Scarlett, but beyond that I could find no common ground with her at all. She wouldn’t even talk about her extensive tattooing, which must mean that in her hierarchy of social credit I ranked rather below micro-organisms growing under toenails. This seemed rather a pity since, as inked bodies go, hers was potentially intriguing. Faux-manga black-eyed girls seemed to be wrapped around oddly tentacular creatures that frollicked and gambolled in and out of her underwear. I suspect the graphic designer responsible suffered from migraine, if not schizophrenia. I reasoned that in midsummer (after the Christmas/New Year madness had dissipated) Mistress D would not be missing out on much trade. Scarlett may have had the interpersonal skills of activated mildew, but bondage and discipline is a fashion statement better suited to the cooler months.

  Jon and Kepler seemed to be in Laos. I received a couple of emails studded liberally with photos of smiling villagers and impressively militant grannies. One ancient woman looked as though she might well have led the charge against the colonialist powers in person, probably wielding a battle-axe in one hand and an AK-47 in the other. There was also a picture of an elaborate banquet held in an impressive-looking grass hut. It seemed to be in Jon’s honour. I wasn’t surprised. He was, I already knew, a global food relief guru. It seemed that he spoke all the major languages of South-East Asia fluently, and many other languages besides. I had once heard him berate a drunken St Patrick’s Day reveller in Irish Gaelic so scorching that the man had been beaten to his knees in ancestral shame. It seemed that Jon was now a sort of liaison officer for Western volunteers. One paragraph in his latest email rather stood out.

  Despite our best endeavours to discourage this sort of thing, some of them still appear to think that the locals should fall about and rejoice that a white person has come to save them. Strangely enough, this is not going to happen. Generally speaking, the locals only need one specific thing, and for the rest: they’re doing very nicely thank you and you can all go away now. The Lao don’t even like their neighbours very much, and they’re suspicious of Westerners. This is where I’m helping out at the moment.

  Judging by the banquet scene, it would appear that Jon and Kepler were very welcome indeed. He also sent me a Skype address, and the offer of a teleconference any time, should I wish it. I have never really Skyped. Ever since my moonbeam parents had discovered it I had avoided that little blue-and-white logo down at the bottom of my monitor screen. But it was pleasing to know that Jon would be a sane, calming virtual presence should I have need of it.

  Correspondence sorted, my mind turned towards higher things. Cafe Delicious, I thought, would be an ideal place for lunch. Del Pandamus had taken to opening his shop on Saturdays. People flocked into the city even on non-working days now, and since most of his competition closed their doors on Friday afternoon, he hoped he would be able to tempt some of them. I hadn’t seen him since his distressing encounter with cyber-bandits, and I thought I should show the flag. Accordingly, I let myself out of my apartment, leaving my cat to his virtuous slumbers.

  ‘Geiá sou, Corinna!’ Del was terribly pleased to see me. I looked around his cafe. A couple of customers were tucking into Greek salads, dolmades and souvlakia, but business seemed slowish. ‘What can I get you today?’

  ‘An open souvlaki and a cafe hellenico, please. And some glyki to follow?’

  ‘Entaxi!’ He rubbed his hands together and shook his bald head. I do not know why this is, but Greek men and pattern baldness go together like eggs and bacon. ‘You like it metriou, yes?’ He smiled and waved his brown, gold-ringed hand towards my favourite table.

  I sat down, and was immediately joined by Gully, who appeared from the back of the cafe and sat down opposite me. His lank black hair hung limply over his pallid features. He looked even less healthy than usual, as if he had spent all night in a coin-operated laundromat staring at the spin dryers.

  ‘Hello, Gully. How are things?’ I enquired.

  ‘Good. Del says I can eat here for free today, so I’ve been doing that.’ He patted his stomach complacently.

  His unexpected appearance was a stroke of luck for me, and I had no intention of wasting it. ‘Gully, that’s great. But I need some intel. Can you help me out?’

  He grinned. My goddess, his teeth were bad. He was going to have to do something about them one of these days. They reminded me of one of those down-at-heel cemeteries where the cracked gravestones lean together drunkenly for support.

  ‘Sure, Corinna. What do you want to know?’

  ‘Tell me about the malware here, which I gather you’ve cleaned up. Did it tell you anything?’

  Anastasia Pandamus brought him a big glass of Coke, smiled down at him as if he were a favourite doggie, and patted his arm. ‘You’re a good boy!’ she said, and departed without further comment.

  He took a medium sip and set the glass down. ‘I’m not sure. The images w
ere just variations on goatse, but –’

  ‘Goatse?’ I broke in.

  ‘If you’ve never seen it, you’re lucky.’ The corners of his mouth twisted downwards. He seemed to be attempting a moustache now, I noticed. It was losing the battle with his acne, but a few sprouts had managed to break through the surface. ‘It’s a really graphic gay porn image. Once you’ve seen it, you’ll never get it out of your head. But that’s been around like forever. It came from 4chan …’ His bleary eyes looked at me hopefully, noted my incomprehension and blinked. ‘It’s like a troll usergroup. You know Anonymous?’

  ‘I’ve heard of them. Didn’t they bring down a government once?’

  ‘Yeah, somewhere in North Africa. Anonymous was like a breakaway group from 4chan. Guys who wanted to change the world.’ He sniffed. Clearly he didn’t feel this was worth bothering about. ‘Anyway, goatse came from 4chan, which is a network of nerds who spend their time trolling each other. But you want to know about the code, don’t you?’

  ‘Yes, I do. Have you seen it before?’

  ‘Yeah. It looked Russian. Somewhere out that way anyway.’ He waved his skinny arms in the general direction of Box Hill. ‘There’s been a bit of that around. But it wasn’t that flash, as malware goes. I tracked their IP address, obviously …’

  Well, obviously. I composed my features into what I hoped was an expression of Oh please, do go on. I might even hear something I could understand any day now.

  He continued, with added emphasis. ‘As you’d expect, it was a VPN based in America. But that doesn’t mean anything.’

  ‘Gully, you’ll have to tell me what a VPN is, I’m afraid.’

  ‘Virtual private network. We all have them, because sometimes you want to get cheaper stuff if it’s available overseas. Also, you can hide from spooks and government surveillance. But VPNs aren’t just for dark web guys who want to look at –’ He broke off. He was blushing! Who knew that Nerds Inc. could be embarrassed by anything? It was time to help him out, so I did.