Resurrection Bay

by Emma Viskic

  ‘Got it: Pearose. The mate’s name is Pearose.’

  ‘Pearose? That doesn’t sound right. You sure?’

  His neck was hot. ‘No.’

  ‘Pearose, Pearose, Pearose.’ She slapped the table. ‘Got it: Pearose.’

  He didn’t know what his face told her, but her grin dropped. She typed on her phone and turned the screen towards him – Spiros. Well, fuck, how the hell was he supposed to know that?

  ‘All right,’ she said. ‘So all we need to do is find an ageing Greek guy in Melbourne called Spiros. Like looking for a leaf of parsley in the tabouli.’

  ‘Tabouli’s Middle Eastern.’

  ‘Greek, Middle Eastern, how do you propose we find him? We don’t even know his surname.’

  ‘Start with Arnie’s death notices.’

  ‘Yeah, all right.’ She wiped her mouth. ‘If you’re just going to sit there and not eat that, let’s get started.’

  They found an internet cafe squeezed between a bridal boutique and a sex shop at the end of the block. There was a worrying stickiness to the computer keyboard: if there was any crossover custom between the three businesses, he didn’t want to know which ones. A search through the last week’s death notices found Arnie’s: much-loved father of Toula, grandfather to Zoe and Oskar. No message from a friend named Spiros, conveniently giving his surname and address. He googled the name Toula Giannopoulos and got a few results, all of them in Greek, from Greece. Looked like Arnie’s daughter had either emigrated or taken her husband’s surname.

  ‘I’ll ring the funeral parlour,’ Frankie said. ‘They might give me the daughter’s contact details.’

  He nodded and scrolled through the notices again: there was a chance they could trace Spiros through one of Arnie’s other friends if they’d posted a message of condolence. Nothing from the same day, or the next, or the next. Wait. He went back. There was a message, but not for Arnie.

  Our dearest Pop Pop

  We’ll always love you.

  Gone too soon.

  Spiros Galto

  ‘Fuck.’

  Frankie lowered the phone. ‘What?

  He stabbed a finger at the screen. ‘He’s killed Spiros, too.’

  ‘Jesus. I guess that’s that, then.’ She went to put her phone away, but he stopped her.

  ‘Ring Kat again.’

  Only fifteen minutes had passed since her last call, but she went through the motions without arguing.

  ‘It’s only been an hour,’ she said as she hung up. ‘Still no reason to worry.’

  ‘Yeah.’ He pushed back his chair and walked outside.

  A churning heat in his stomach. Two options: drive to the Bay, or keep dicking around here. Both felt useless. No leads here, no idea if Kat was there. He pulled the car keys from his pocket as he went to cross the road. They felt too heavy: Gary’s keys, not his. He swallowed. How many more people were going to die before this was over?

  A sudden rush of air.

  The smell of disc brakes and diesel.

  Hands yanking him back.

  Frankie was gripping his arm, her face white. ‘Fuck. Cal.’

  Shit, he’d just stepped out in front of a truck. ‘Sorry, wasn’t concentrating.’

  ‘I mean, right out in front of it. Like a toddler.’ She pointed to the road. ‘That could have been you.’

  Gary’s keys were lying in a tangled bunch on the asphalt, surrounded by shards of plastic. He waited for a break in the traffic, then fetched them. The torch was broken, and the pen. The keys looked all right, but Gary’s ‘cool stuff’ pocketknife was cracked down the middle. He tried to push the casing into place and the entire back fell off.

  ‘Fuck.’

  He tried again, feeling a ridiculous need to make it whole. It took him a couple of attempts before he recognised what was lying in his hand: a USB stick. A clever design; it must have been hidden in the middle of the pocketknife. Trust Gaz to carry a memory stick around for emergency backup situations.

  He looked at Frankie. ‘He always saved everything.’

  ‘It’s OK, we can probably replace all the parts.’

  ‘No, I mean Gaz. Scott took his computer.’ He held up the USB. ‘But he always backed up.’

  She stared at the stick. ‘The small thing they’re looking for?’

  ‘Could be.’

  ‘Pity you just threw it under the wheels of a fucking truck then, isn’t it?’

  He examined the stick: the circuitry was exposed and the head was pinched closed. ‘We could take it to someone. A computer hardware specialist.’

  ‘Computer medium, more like. It’s fucked.’ She pulled out her phone and glanced at the screen. ‘Not Kat,’ she told him before answering. ‘Detective, hello. Sure, what’s up?’ Her face wiped blank.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ he asked.

  ‘But why …’ She turned from him and he was left scrabbling to catch her words. ‘… you … photo … Fuck, OK.’

  He grabbed her shoulders to hold her in place.

  ‘Half an hour. I will.’ She hung up.

  ‘Don’t you fucking dare do that to me! Give me the fucking courtesy of …’

  ‘Cal.’ Tears started in her eyes.

  The air left his lungs. He suddenly didn’t want to know what the phone call had been about.

  ‘Tedesco wants us to look at a photo. They found … They found the body of a woman. Cal, he thinks …’

  He looked away so he couldn’t see the rest of her words.

  Not Kat. No.

  25.

  A hand on his shoulder.

  ‘We’re here,’ Frankie said.

  He nodded and got out. They were at a large park. A lake, children, ducks. Tedesco was sitting at a picnic table near a small wooden kiosk. Caleb walked towards him; one step, then another, across the wet grass. There was a children’s playground here. A pool too, grey-blue under the clouded sky. One lone swimmer was ploughing through its frigid waters. Cold getting changed, walking to the water’s edge. Colder still in the water, the blood congealing in your veins.

  Tedesco looked his way and stood up. He was holding a large envelope.

  Caleb’s feet stopped moving.

  ‘They broke Gary’s fingers.’ The words came from nowhere.

  Frankie rocked back. ‘I know.’

  ‘Cut him.’

  She nodded.

  ‘If they … I can’t … If Kat …’

  Frankie lifted her hand, then lowered it. ‘It might not be her,’ she eventually said.

  He started walking again. His feet didn’t seem to be working properly, or the ground wasn’t where it was supposed to be. Tedesco gave a quick nod when they reached him and launched into a slow and methodical speech. Something about formal identification and coroners. Caleb’s eyes went to the envelope. It was plain, buff-coloured, nothing to show the horror it contained. His chest was tight, no air getting through to his brain.

  Frankie tapped his arm. ‘Let me look.’

  He shook his head and Tedesco slid a photo from the envelope. Had to blink a few times to get his eyes to focus. She was lying on a stainless steel slab, looking straight at him, a dull sheen to her blue eyes. Dead. So obviously dead. Drained of anything that had made her sparkle in life. Her hair straggled over her face, unbrushed. For some reason that seemed like the final indignity.

  He thrust the photo at Tedesco. ‘It isn’t Kat.’

  The detective’s mouth was moving, but he turned away and stumbled to the toilet block. Just made it into the cubicle before throwing up. Felt like he was being turned inside out. Everything out. Everything except the fear; that stayed in. An overreaction. It wasn’t Kat. It had never been Kat. Some other woman was lying dead with her hair in tangles, not Kat. But he was unable to leave that alternate world, the one where he turned the photo over and saw Kat lying there. He got to his feet and rinsed his mouth at the basin, splashed his face. Slow, slow breathing. Air in, air out. Air in, air out. Not Kat. It had never been Kat.


  Frankie was waiting a discreet distance away, tapping her fingers against her thighs. She turned as he approached and pulled him into a tight hug, leaning her forehead against his shoulder. He stood for a moment, then broke away. The sunlight felt hot against the back of his eyes.

  ‘Sit down come,’ she signed. ‘Coffee big man butterfly.’

  He laughed. There was a strong chance she’d done that on purpose, but he appreciated it either way.

  They sat side by side at a picnic table and watched Tedesco head across the playground towards them; he was carrying numerous cups and bottles and wrapped foods. The envelope was tucked under his arm.

  His heart skipped. ‘What if I … What if I was wrong? I should look again.’

  ‘I checked – it isn’t Kat. I promise.’ Her eyes flicked to Tedesco. ‘Back in a tick.’

  She strode towards the detective. Tedesco passed her the coffee cups and they stood talking, the top of Frankie’s head not quite reaching the detective’s chin. Caleb had the strong sense she was telling him off and Tedesco wasn’t taking it lying down. She finally snapped something that made the big man shut up, and they walked back to the table in an apparent truce.

  They sat opposite him, Tedesco sliding a coffee and sodden-looking lamington across the table.

  ‘Carbohydrates. Good for shock.’

  ‘Thanks,’ he said, but didn’t pick it up. It was going to be a while before he trusted his stomach enough to put anything solid into it.

  Frankie and Tedesco made small talk while they drank; two strangers trying to find common ground until the world could return to its normal axis. They were discussing coffee. Tedesco liked his weak, with lots of milk and sugar. Frankie was looking at him with an expression akin to disgust. Possibly not the safe subject they’d assumed it was. He watched their mouths, but wasn’t really concentrating. His body felt heavy, adrenaline ebbing. A sleep would be good now. Maybe right here on the picnic table. He could zone out for a few hours while Frankie and Tedesco argued about whether a cappuccino was a respectable thing for a police detective to drink.

  ‘That’s great,’ Frankie said.

  They’d moved on from caffeine.

  ‘What’s great?’ Caleb said.

  ‘I’ve found out a bit about Michael Petronin,’ Tedesco said. ‘He’s known to the police. No great surprise there. A few assaults, served some time in his twenties for it, but since then we’ve never been able to prosecute. No-one’s been willing to testify against him.’

  Caleb had a vision of that soulless smile: not hard to imagine why. ‘Did you find his ex-wife?’

  ‘He’s never been married.’

  Damn. ‘So you don’t know who the woman in the photo with him is?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Do you know anything else about him?’

  Tedesco consulted some internal code before answering. ‘No known loyalties, but there are rumours he’s done standover work for a couple of the local kingpins. Apparently he’s quite persuasive.’ He paused. ‘Was quite persuasive. He was found dead yesterday, near a little town called Resurrection Bay. Homicide.’

  They sat for a moment without speaking.

  ‘Do you have any leads in his murder?’ Frankie asked.

  The detective’s face was as unreadable as ever. ‘Possibly gangland related. He was killed by the same gun that killed a policeman last week.’

  Caleb sat up. ‘Another cop? Who? When?’

  ‘Senior Constable Anthony Hobbs. He was killed in the early hours of June the twenty-fourth.’

  The same day as Gary. ‘So his death is connected to Gary’s.’

  ‘That hasn’t been ascertained.’

  ‘Did Constable Hobbs have a connection with Petronin?’

  ‘Not that I’m aware of.’

  ‘Or Scott?’

  ‘Not that I’m aware of.’

  ‘Or Gary?’

  The slightest of hesitations. ‘Not that I’m aware of.’

  Caleb glanced at Frankie – she’d caught it, too. Not a certain link, but a possible one. Why would Tedesco suspect Gary and Hobbs might know each other?

  ‘Where was Hobbs stationed?’ he asked.

  ‘Craigieburn.’

  Not Gary’s current station, but he’d worked there four years ago. A mid-sized station, in an outer suburb, two senior constables; there was a good chance they’d have known each other. The real question was the nature of their relationship.

  ‘What was Hobbs like?’ he asked.

  ‘I didn’t know him.’

  Like pulling teeth. Big, stone teeth from an Easter Island head.

  ‘What was his service record like?’

  ‘Exemplary.’ Tedesco drank his coffee and waited silently for the next question.

  Frankie squinted at him. ‘You’re a chatty bastard, aren’t you?’

  A glint in Tedesco’s eye. ‘That hasn’t been ascertained.’

  She nodded in appreciation and tapped the envelope by his elbow. ‘In more than three words, explain to us the connection between the dead woman and the case.’

  ‘I doubt she’s connected. That was a matter of me seeing her photo and jumping to conclusions.’ He met Caleb’s eyes; a moment of openness. ‘Sorry to have put you through that.’

  Caleb shook his head.

  Frankie was frowning. ‘How do you know what Kat looks like?’

  ‘I’ve got a photo-board. Helps me see connections.’

  ‘In the middle of Broadmeadows fucking police station? With Scott running around, paying off cops?’

  His expression didn’t change. ‘It’s at home, Ms Reynolds. This isn’t exactly official business.’

  She took a minute, then said through stiff lips, ‘Sorry. Guess I’m a bit jumpy.’

  Caleb looked at them both bristling. This he could do without. ‘Detective …’

  ‘Uri,’ Tedesco said.

  ‘Sorry?’

  ‘So am I, mate.’ The detective cracked a smile for the first time, a transforming expression. ‘It’s my name.’

  ‘Uri, we had a theory that Scott might have been smuggling something through the warehouse. Something Arnie may have accidentally stolen.’

  ‘Good theory. Do you have any evidence to support it?’

  ‘No, but we’ve found a USB that belonged to Gary. There might be something on it.’ He reached into his pocket for the memory stick and Frankie kicked his shin. He froze.

  ‘I keep telling you we won’t get anything off that.’ She looked at Tedesco. ‘He threw it under the wheels of a semi. It’s fucked.’

  Caleb slowly withdrew his hand and reached for his water bottle.

  ‘You’d be surprised what the computer whizzes can do these days. Where is it?’

  ‘With our computer guy,’ Frankie said without hesitation.

  ‘It’s potential evidence, it should be in a police lab. What’s the address? I’ll send someone for it.’

  She shook her head. ‘I’m not too happy about giving it to some probationary constable who may or may not be working with Grey-face. Unless you’ve got time to drive down to Frankston yourself, how about we pick it up and give it to you?’

  Tedesco was silent for a long time. ‘All right.’

  The muscles around Frankie’s eyes relaxed. ‘I’ll give you a ring when we’ve got it.’

  Caleb took her cue and shook the detective’s hand. ‘Thanks, Uri. It’s a relief to have someone in the know on our side.’

  Tedesco gave him a grim smile. ‘Sorry to burst your bubble, but I’ve been in this position for five whole weeks. Barely know my way around Melbourne yet.’

  Those dust-bowl cadences that still showed through his cop-speak. Maybe he hadn’t been fast-tracked; maybe he’d been mouldering away in a one-pub country town until now. Which could mean he was either very stupid, or very bright.

  ‘You’re from the country?’

  Tedesco looked at him for a beat. ‘Originally. But don’t worry, I trained with the big kids.’

  V
ery bright.

  They watched him stride across the park. Agile for such a big man.

  26.

  ‘What was that all about?’ Caleb asked as they walked back to the car.

  ‘That didn’t ring any alarm bells?’

  ‘Which part?’

  ‘The part where Tedesco just happens to know about Kat. Just happens to have her photo. Just happens to find a picture of a dead woman who looks like her.’

  ‘She wasn’t that similar.’ Similar enough to give him nightmares for a long time.

  ‘Similar enough to draw you out into the open. And all that “call me Uri” stuff?’ She shook her head. ‘Not sitting well.’

  He thought through the conversation as they got in the car. Tedesco obviously didn’t like breaking the rules, but he’d answered every question they’d put to him. The touch of humour had seemed genuine, too.

  ‘I don’t get that vibe from him – it feels like he’s trying to help. And I met with him this morning. Out in the open, plenty of opportunity to attack me.’

  ‘I don’t want to dis your Spidey sense, but he met you at short notice, at the venue of your choice. If I was going to get to someone, you know what I’d do? I’d make sure they were tired and distressed, then I’d chat to them for a little while to show them what a great gal I am. Then, when they started to relax, I’d walk away and let the heavyweights take over.’

  She was right: Tedesco was smart, subtle and ambitious. And the I’m-just-an-outsider line could have been a ruse. He could be best mates with every cop in Melbourne and they wouldn’t know it.

  ‘So we’re agreed?’ she said. ‘We go for a long and very scenic drive in a well-populated area right now, and not meet with Tedesco again in person?’

  ‘Yeah. And you need to get rid of your phone.’

  She clutched it to her. ‘My iPhone? Fuck that.’

  ‘If Tedesco’s working for Scott, it’ll lead him straight to us.’

  ‘Shit.’ She switched it off, swearing fluently as she struggled to get the sim card out. ‘Happy?’ she said as she gently laid the parts in the glove box. ‘I’ll leave it off except to check messages.’