by Emma Viskic
‘Do you need a hug?’
She gave him the finger, glanced in the rear-view mirror, and pulled out in front of a bus. When he could look again, he angled the mirror towards himself and watched the road. After twenty minutes of one-way streets, sudden stops and unexpected right-hand turns, he relaxed. No-one could be following them.
He pointed towards a multi-storey car park. ‘Pull in here for a sec.’
She drove in and parked. ‘What’s up?’
‘If we’re going to be paranoid, we may as well do it properly and change the plates.’
He grabbed two screwdrivers from the tool kit in the boot. Anton couldn’t have known it was there or it would have been long gone. He handed one to Frankie.
‘Get ours off and I’ll find some replacements.’
He wandered down the aisle. Nothing too new, nothing too special. A car that was just a car, one where the owners might not notice the changed plates right away. There – an old Renault with a wire coathanger in the shape of Australia serving as its aerial.
‘Once a crim, always a crim,’ Frankie said when he returned with the plates.
‘One car, Frankie. And I was twelve.’ Five cars and he was fourteen, but who was counting?
She kicked the balding tyres. ‘Driving around in an unroadworthy car isn’t too smart for a master criminal like you. Any cop could pull us over for these.’
She was right. It was time to stop trying to avoid the unavoidable.
‘Let’s check out Gary’s place in the morning. I can get my car while we’re there.’
‘I was more hoping you’d steal me that Merc over there, but that sounds like a plan, too.’
The rest of the drive passed with only minimal road rage, and, half an hour later Frankie pulled in to a motel. Neither of them made a move to get out.
‘Bad day at the office, huh?’
‘Yeah.’ He wasn’t sure he could handle too many more like it.
She clipped the pieces of her phone back together and checked messages. His heart lurched at her sudden stillness, but she was grinning as she handed him the phone.
‘Think this one’s for you.’
– Safe. Not in the Bay or Melb. Kat
The weight of a thousand fears lifted from his shoulders and somehow lodged in his throat.
Safe. She was safe.
‘Pity that didn’t come in a bit earlier,’ Frankie mused. ‘Could have saved us all a bit of grief.’
Safe.
Heat pricked his eyes. Think about the message. It sounded like Kat was taking sensible precautions, like she was organised. Not too happy with him, though – no customary ‘x’ before her name. Had she ever texted him without signing off with a kiss before? Had she ever texted anyone without one? Text – shit.
‘She’s still using her phone. I thought you told her to leave it behind?’
‘Ah. You didn’t read the second one.’
‘Second what?’
‘There’s a second message.’
He swiped the screen.
– its a public phone u idiot. give me some fucking credit.
Frankie thumped his arm. ‘Calls for a bit of a celebration, don’t you think?’
‘God. Yes. Dinner’s on me.’ He dug in his pockets. ‘Think it’ll cost more than three dollars?’
Frankie paid for his beer and two plates of steak and chips at the nearest pub. She ate a few chips and sat nursing a mineral water; he sculled his beer so she didn’t have to look at it.
‘Solid food, that’s a step up,’ she commented, watching him mop gravy with his chips. ‘You’ll be sleeping next.’
She was right; as soon as the last mouthful hit his stomach, he was ready to lie down on the stinking floor and sleep.
‘At least you’re a cheap date.’ She got to her feet. ‘Come on, Princess, off to bed with you.’
They walked back to the motel, the three blocks feeling a lot further than on the way to the pub. As they passed a public phone, a thought that had been tickling the back of his brain since getting Kat’s message finally formed. He’d been so focused on the calls Gary had made, he’d forgotten about the one he’d received. Detective McFarlane had grilled him about it in his interview. He could still see the red-headed man’s disbelieving smile.
‘Come on, Caleb, you managed to call emergency services yesterday. You can handle a phone.’
He stopped walking. ‘Why would someone use a public phone?’
Frankie’s lip curled. ‘To piss in, judging by the smell.’
‘Or to keep your number from appearing in someone’s phone records.’
‘Sure. Why? Are you thinking of stalking someone?’
‘Gaz received a call from one the day he died. The cops kept going on about it, particularly the guy from Ethical Standards. I’m wondering if it was someone who knew the cops were going to be crawling all over Gary’s phone records, someone who knew he was about to be killed.’
‘Or someone with a flat battery, or no credit, but OK, let’s go with your idea. So, what? It’s a public phone, we’ve got no way of identifying who was using it.’
‘No, but it might be interesting to get the number and find out where the phone is. I’ll ask Sharon.’
There was a good chance she wouldn’t read his text, an even better chance she wouldn’t have the energy to check her phone records, but it was worth a try. He backtracked to the phone, but caught Frankie’s expression as he lifted the receiver.
‘You don’t think it’s a good idea?’
She shrugged. ‘As long as you realise that there’s a second reason someone might not have wanted their number showing up on Gary’s records. The reason Ethical Affairs is so interested in the call.’
‘Because the caller was involved in something dodgy with Gaz? Yeah, I’m not telling Sharon that part.’ Or his niggling fear that the call might have come from the Bay.
They walked the rest of the way to the motel in silence. A shower, a little bottle of whisky from the mini bar, and he’d be ready to fall into a coma. He paused at his door. Frankie alone with a mini bar all night. Maybe he should clear it out for her.
‘I’ll come and clear out your mi–’
She turned away, giving him a little wave as she walked down the corridor. He waited until she’d disappeared, then opened his door. He locked it and just stood in the middle of the room. Safe. Kat was safe. A lifetime since he’d held that photo in his hands; he could feel every second of it weighing on his eyelids. Eight o’clock: too early for grown-ups to be thinking about sleep. Maybe just a nap. He lay down, fully clothed, and closed his eyes.
27.
The bed was shaking. Must have forgotten to turn off the alarm again. He reached for Kat to apologise, but his hand encountered only cold sheet. He peeled open his eyes. Frankie was standing over him, holding a takeaway coffee cup and kicking the bed.
‘And he’s awake,’ she said. ‘Refreshed from his beauty sleep.’
‘How’d you get in?’
‘Popped the lock. Lucky I’m not Scott – took two seconds.’
He sat up, blinking. His neck felt stiff, as though he’d slept in the one position for the past …
‘Wow,’ he said, looking at the bedside clock.
‘Yeah, impressive. Don’t think I’ve ever witnessed a thirteen-hour sleep marathon before. Had to resist the urge to check you were still breathing.’
He scrubbed his face. ‘I think I left some of my brain on the pillow.’
She shoved the coffee into his hand. ‘Well, get it back with this, we’ve got things to do.’
He took the coffee into the bathroom and drank it while he showered, even managed to piss while he was in there. Who said men couldn’t multi-task? He pulled on a random selection of the clothes Anton had lent him – black jeans and a deep-red jumper – and checked out his reflection. Almost human.
Frankie eyed the ensemble as he entered the room. She was sitting crossed-legged on his bed, making short work of a sandwic
h.
‘Almost fashionable. Didn’t the shop stock out-of-date Midnight Oil T-shirts?’ She threw something to him, underhand. A bundle of cash secured by a rubber band.
‘Bit early in the day for bank robbery, isn’t it?’
‘We’re going cardless. That’s the maximum I could get out.’ She lobbed him another package.
He examined it. ‘A salad sandwich for breakfast? Are you on a health kick or something?’ He regretted the words as soon as he’d said them, but she just shrugged.
‘It was that or chocolate cake.’
He gave her a surreptitious once-over as he ate the roll. She was looking good this morning. No twitching or tapping, no bags under her eyes. And she was happily eating a salad sandwich. Excellent. With both of them fully functional, they might actually get somewhere today.
‘Little email from Elle this morning,’ she said, passing him her phone.
It was the promised list of people who’d had access to the warehouse. A lot longer than he’d been hoping for. She had arranged the names in alphabetical order, with most of the letters covered from A: Alston Electrics, through to L: Light Solutions. No, there was another page – P: Premium Occasions.
‘Oh, come on.’
Frankie handed him something heavy in a brown paper bag. ‘This might cheer you up – I went for the chocolate cake, too.’
He ate the cake on the way to the car, another bit of multi-tasking he wouldn’t have been capable of yesterday. Food, sleep, relief: all a man needed to function properly. Well, nearly all. He had a vision of Kat’s long limbs wrapped around him. He dragged his mind from the image and got in the car.
‘Where to?’ Frankie asked.
He took a deep breath. ‘Gary’s.’
Even from the street the house looked empty. No car in the driveway, no skateboards or bikes on the front porch. The grass in the front yard was longer than usual. If Gaz were here, he’d be out with the mower and whipper snipper, cutting it back into submission.
‘Take yourself off for a coffee or something,’ Frankie said. ‘I’ll have a quick poke around.’
Tempting, but he was the one who knew the house, knew the family.
‘Be quicker with both of us.’
He walked to the front door and opened it before he could change his mind. The air was still. He stood just inside the hallway, trying not to remember the last time he’d been here. Trying even harder not to remember all the times before that. The hall table was gone, and the photos that had lined the walls. He made his way down the hallway, aware of Frankie close behind him. The family room had been cleared of furniture and books. A smell of bleach and pine.
A shadow marked the tiles where Gary had died.
He jumped as Frankie touched his shoulder.
‘You do upstairs,’ she said. ‘I’ll do here.’
He took the stairs without looking back. The bathroom and master bedroom were empty. No furniture, no toiletries. He opened the wardrobe. Nothing. He ran his hand along the architraves and pulled at the door panels, but there were no hidden recesses or secret messages. The carpet was tacked firmly to the floorboards and showed no signs of having been disturbed. He checked the kids’ room. Pointless; Gaz wouldn’t have kept anything dangerous near them. Which was worth examining. If Gary had had something he didn’t want near his family, but needed to keep close, where would he have put it? Maybe the garage.
He averted his eyes from the stained floor as he descended the stairs. Out through the connecting laundry door, to the garage. It had been stripped clean. Not a single screw or nail left in the place.
The light switched on and off. Frankie was in the doorway.
‘If it was here, it’s gone,’ she said. ‘Where’s all their stuff?’
‘I don’t know. But I don’t think it was ever here – Gaz wouldn’t have brought anything dangerous into the house.’
‘I might just give Sharon a ring anyway, find out where their belongings are. What’s her number?’
He hesitated.
‘Cal, come on, you know I won’t harass her. Just a quick couple of questions.’
‘It’s not you, it’s just that I can’t … She’s pretty fragile at the moment and she’s never met you.’
‘Yeah I know, it’s a shit, but I’ll be as gentle with her as you would. Promise.’
She made the call while he transferred their belongings to his car. She finished while he was still changing the numberplates.
‘Well Sharon’s sister hates your guts,’ she said.
‘Yeah.’ He lowered the screwdriver. ‘How’s Sharon?’
‘Didn’t get to speak to her. Didn’t need to as it turns out. Michelle hired a professional crew to clean out the house. Sounds like most of it went to the tip. She’s sending you the bill, by the way.’
Seemed fair. ‘Another dead end, then.’
‘Not entirely. She did pass on a message from Sharon: the number of the phone booth Gary received a call from.’
‘Have you …’
‘Doing it now.’ She entered the number in a reverse directory: Queens Parade, Clifton Hill.
Nowhere near the Bay. Nowhere near anything connected to the case. He knew the street, he’d driven down it coming back from the warehouse the other day. What was there? Shops, cafes, more cafes.
‘Any ideas?’ he asked.
‘No, but we can hunt down everyone’s home address and see if anyone lives in Clifton Hill. You never know, we might get lucky.’
There was a first time for everything. He finished attaching the rear numberplate and returned the screwdriver to the boot. Frankie was watching him, tapping the phone against her leg.
‘What?’ he asked.
‘Sharon’s sister – what’s with the aggression? She bit my head off when I pushed back about wanting to speak to Sharon.’
‘She’s protective. You know how older sisters are.’ Too late, he remembered Frankie’s estrangement from her own younger sister. ‘I mean some older sisters. Over-protective ones.’ Shut up now.
‘Over-protective as in mamma bear? Or over-protective as in she knows something that’s worrying her?’
‘For fuck’s sake Frankie, Michelle was not involved in Gary’s death.’
‘I’m not saying she was. But how d’you reckon she’d respond if she knew something that would endanger Sharon and the kids?’
Exactly the way she was now, with bluster and acidity. But what could Michelle know? Something Sharon had told her.
‘You think Sharon knows more than she told me?’
She lifted a shoulder. ‘Probably not, but if I can get her on the phone …’
‘No.’
‘I wouldn’t …’
‘No.’ He thought back to the scene in the cafe: ripping the details about Gary’s last phone call from a quietly weeping Sharon. He couldn’t put her through that again on a whim.
‘If it has to happen, I’ll do it in person, but it’s option D right now.’
She stood for a moment, then slipped the phone in her pocket.
‘OK, option D.’
He drove without looking back. At the Alexandra Parade lights Frankie tapped the wheel and pointed straight ahead.
‘Let’s go to Richmond. We can drop off the USB and start in on that list of names Elle gave us.’
‘Has Geekmate moved?’
‘No, I thought we’d give someone new a try. They once mentioned a guy in Richmond who’d be good for a rush job – Sammy somebody. Ng, I think.’
He looked at her for a moment. Geekmate had always been their go-to computer guys. Fast, reliable, and trusted by numerous security companies. Including those run by ex-cops.
‘You want to change because Tedesco knows about the USB?’
‘Yeah, the paranoia’s setting in nicely.’
The address Frankie had for Sammy Ng turned out to be an internet cafe of the upmarket kind. A lot of exposed brick and stainless steel, with Apple Macs interspersed among original artwork. Most of th
e clientele wore heavy-framed glasses and architecturally styled clothing.
‘Fate,’ Frankie said. ‘I needed coffee and a computer without sticky keys and the gods gave them to me.’
Caleb caught a waitress as she approached, lattes brimming.
‘I’m looking for Sammy, the computer …’
‘By the window,’ she said, edging past.
‘By the window’ meant either a schoolgirl elbow-deep in homework or an elderly man with scraggy dreadlocks. He made his way towards the girl, Frankie close behind.
The girl looked up and gave them an open smile as they reached her. She had very white teeth and the unblemished skin of a ten-year-old raised on a macrobiotic diet.
‘Sammy?’
‘Sammi with an “i”.’ She stuck out her hand. ‘Pleased to meet you.’
‘You’re Sammi?’ Frankie said.
The girl sent a frown in Caleb’s direction. ‘She always this slow?’
Frankie’s mouth closed with a snap.
‘I’m Caleb,’ he said, pulling out a chair. ‘The slow one is Frankie. The guys from Geekmate gave us your name.’ He paused. How old was she, anyway?
‘Yeah I know, I look about twelve,’ she said, apparently reading his mind. ‘I’m sixteen.’
‘Why aren’t you in school?’
She squinted at him. ‘What are you – my fricken mother? D’you wanna know if I’ve cleaned my room too, or d’you want my help?’
‘Help.’ He pulled the USB from his pocket and handed it to her. ‘Can you see if you can get anything off this?’
‘Old school.’ She turned it over in her hand. ‘Seven ninety-five at Officeworks.’
‘Yes, but …’
‘You need what’s on it.’
‘Yeah.’
She sat back and looked them both over. ‘What are you? Private eyes or something?’ Her eyes widened. ‘Are there state secrets on it?’
‘Nothing that exciting. Think you can get anything off it?’
‘Well, I dunno,’ she said. ‘You try sticking it in a computer?’
He blinked.
‘Jesus – men. Is it plugged in? Is it switched on? How do you all manage to find your dicks when you piss?’ She sent a look in Frankie’s direction. ‘I expect better from a sister.’