Resurrection Bay

by Emma Viskic

  A cavernous space, filled with towering boxes, a cleared area the size of a tennis court. A single bank of lights threw the rest of the room into deep shadow. Kat was metres from him, Grey-face standing over her. Her mouth, her poor mouth. And her cheek – swollen and shining. The bastard had punched her.

  He raised his gun. ‘Let her go.’

  Grey-face hauled Kat to her feet by her hair and pressed the knife to her throat.

  ‘Put the guns down, or I’ll fillet her.’ He jerked his wrist and a trickle of blood ran down Kat’s neck.

  Caleb’s hand lowered.

  Tedesco waved frantically beside him.

  Think. Grey-face wouldn’t kill her. Not yet. Not while he and Tedesco both had guns on him. But if he put his gun down … He tightened his grip. Please, God, let him be right.

  Kat was staring at him: her eyes huge. She raised her hands and signed, ‘Another man in the …’

  Grey-face yanked her head back. ‘Hands by your sides or I’ll slit your fucking throat.’

  Tedesco was talking, his voice an even rumble, but Caleb kept his eyes on Kat.

  ‘Behind you,’ she mouthed. The words were only just recognisable from her swollen lips. ‘Hiding in the boxes.’

  ‘We need to check the room,’ he told Tedesco.

  ‘Go. I’ll cover Grey-face.’

  He didn’t move.

  The detective glanced at him. ‘Go. If he moves, I’ll shoot him.’

  Tedesco looked like he had a steady arm. Could he do it? How good a shot would he have to be to hit Grey-face and not Kat?

  ‘He’s getting closer,’ Kat mouthed. ‘Got a gun. To my right. Second row from the door.’

  He ran in the opposite direction, slowing as soon as he reached the cover of the towering boxes. Softly now, loop back around. A glimpse of Kat and the men through the towering boxes. No-one had moved. There, just up ahead, a flash of something white in the darkness: a man’s shirt. He crept forward. Breathing too heavily. How loud was it? The man was edging around a row of boxes, gun raised, aiming at Tedesco. Caleb threw himself forward. They went down hard. Stunned immobility, then he struggled to his feet. He kicked the man’s gun away.

  ‘I’ve got a gun on you. Hands behind your head then turn over. Slowly.’

  There was a pause, then the man rolled onto his back. Ginger hair and a heavily freckled face. A jolt of recognition – the detective from Ethical Standards, Hamish McFarlane. It clicked into place: the very Scottish name, the nickname, Scott. And he’d been there from the beginning; watching, waiting, manipulating. The accusations against him and Gary, the mysterious tapping of Kat’s phone, the dead woman’s photo. All wrapped up in a bow and delivered to Tedesco, the new boy in the department, with no connections or friends.

  ‘He’s got me,’ McFarlane yelled.

  There was sudden movement in the corner of his eye. Something happening where he’d left Kat. A snatch of that same high-pitched note he’d almost heard before, the one that had made Tedesco stiffen. Hold the gun steady, don’t look away from McFarlane.

  The detective grinned up at him. ‘Can’t you hear that? Doesn’t sound too good. Maybe you should check if she’s OK.’

  His hands were damp. ‘Get to your knees and crawl towards them.’

  ‘You should hurry – that sounds painful.’

  Don’t look, don’t look, just keep the gun on McFarlane.

  ‘My hands are sweating. You’d better move before this goes off.’

  McFarlane glanced at his trigger finger then rolled over and began to crawl. Caleb followed at arm’s length, through the towering boxes. Another almost-sound scratched at the edges of his hearing. Out into the light. Tedesco was still aiming at Grey-face, Grey-face still holding Kat. But something was different – a rigid stillness to the scene. Kat’s eyes were glassy, her mouth contorted in a grimace. God, her fingers, her beautiful fingers. Two of them bent and misshapen.

  ‘Kat.’ He stepped towards her.

  Grey-face jabbed the knife. ‘Stop right there.’

  Caleb froze. Blood was flowing down Kat’s neck, staining her T-shirt.

  ‘Good, now drop the gun.’

  Couldn’t drop it. Had to drop it. Maybe if he …

  Grey-face grasped Kat’s ring finger and snapped it back.

  Heat, then cold, flowed through him. God, oh God. He gripped the gun with suddenly weak hands. Grey-face grabbed Kat’s forefinger. Her eyes were screwed shut, her breath coming in panicky snatches.

  ‘Seven to go,’ Grey-face said and twisted his hand.

  A scream on Kat’s face, in his heart and mouth. Jesus. Jesus. How could he stop it? Had to make it stop. Gun. Couldn’t aim well enough. Why hadn’t he learnt to shoot? Grew up in the country. Could have had a rifle. Why the fuck hadn’t he learn to shoot?

  And McFarlane was there, next to Kat. Fuck, hadn’t seen him move.

  ‘Come on, Caleb,’ the red-headed detective said. ‘Time to give it up now. Frankie told me all about you and the lovely Kathryn here. Childhood sweethearts, love of your life and all that.’ He took hold of Kat’s swollen hand and stroked it. ‘So why don’t you save me a little time, and her a significant amount of pain, and put the gun down.’

  Tedesco was speaking. McFarlane’s head jerked towards him, his smile fading. A moment’s hesitation, then the smirk crept back onto his lips.

  ‘Did you now? Then I’d better hurry things up a bit.’ He pulled something from his pocket: silver and black, small enough to fit into his palm.

  A knife.

  Caleb’s bowels turned to water.

  McFarlane pressed the blade to Kat’s wrist.

  ‘Your choice, Caleb.’ The detective raised his eyebrows. ‘No? OK.’ He slashed the knife up Kat’s forearm.

  ‘No!’ The word ripped from his throat.

  Noise, shouting. Blood. Blood everywhere.

  McFarlane pressed the knife to Kat’s wrist again.

  Caleb dropped the gun.

  32.

  Kat sagged against Grey-face. Her clothes were dark with blood, a spreading pool at her feet. The smell, like a butcher’s. How long did she have? Hours? Minutes?

  McFarlane picked up Caleb’s gun and pointed it at him. ‘On your knees.’

  He knelt, felt the cold burn of the gun as McFarlane pressed it to his temple. A strange calmness descended. Aware of many things: Kat’s stillness, McFarlane’s peppermint breath, the small pain of something hard under his knee. McFarlane was talking, yelling. Tedesco murmuring quietly in response, his voice as steady as the gun he had aimed at the red-headed detective. Caleb slowly moved his knee, glanced down at what he’d been kneeling on. A long nail. An old roofing nail. He edged his hand towards it, stopped as he caught a movement by the door. Someone was there. Frankie.

  Her eyes were clear and focused. Not high. Fuck, what was she doing here? Come to pull the trigger? She called out and McFarlane turned towards her. The pressure against Caleb’s temple lifted. No second chances. He snatched up the nail and rammed it into McFarlane’s thigh. And he was standing, punching. Hands, feet, elbows. The gun flew across the room. Get it. A sudden pain in the back of his head. He stumbled, body suddenly weak. Another blow and he was on his knees, darkness edging his vision. Tedesco was running towards him. No, no, that left Grey-face alone with Kat. Get to her. Get up, move. A flurry of movement as Tedesco tackled McFarlane to the ground. Kat. Get to Kat. Grey-face was pulling back her head, raising the knife. Wouldn’t get there in time. Please, God, no.

  A bang, a spray of red. Grey-face crumpled to the floor.

  Frankie was standing over his body, clutching the gun with white-knuckled fingers.

  Her pale eyes locked on Caleb’s. Neither of them moved.

  She raised a shaking hand and signed, ‘Sorry me everything. Ambulance call.’ She dropped the gun and fled.

  A blurred shape as McFarlane ran past him towards the door. Going after Frankie? No, the gun. Fuck. The detective scooped it up. He was turning, aimin
g. Nowhere to run, no weapon. This was the end. A vibration behind him: Tedesco stamping to get his attention, mouthing something urgent.

  ‘Down. Get down.’

  He threw himself to the floor. A rapid succession of shots. A percussive thud. Stillness. The smell of ancient dirt and iron. He slowly raised his head. McFarlane was sprawled on his stomach, one arm outflung, the back of his shirt a tattered, bloody mess. Beyond him lay Kat. Caleb staggered to his feet and ran to her. Her eyes were closed, blood darkening the floorboards beneath her. Was that a pulse? Hand trembling, too hard to tell. Yes, there it was, fluttering against his fingers. He inhaled on a sob.

  ‘Kat? Sweetheart?’ He stroked back her hair. ‘Open your eyes. Come on sweetheart, wake up.’

  Her eyelids slowly opened. Dull, unseeing.

  ‘Good, that’s the way.’

  So pale, a marbled greyness to her skin. He stripped off one of his tops and began ripping it.

  ‘I’m going to bandage your arm to stop the bleeding, OK?’

  A slight nod and she closed her eyes again.

  ‘I’m just going to … I have to move your arm.’

  No acknowledgement this time. He eased her arm out straight, trying to avoid her mangled fingers. Long flaps of skin peeled back from a deep gouge. Valleys of flesh, glimpses of white, maybe bone. Jesus. He began to bandage. She inhaled sharply and jerked away.

  ‘Sorry. Sorry, I’ll be quick.’

  Where the fuck was the ambulance? It should be here by now. How fucking long did it take to get to Footscray?

  A tap on his shoulder.

  ‘Let me do it,’ Tedesco said. Blood dripped from a gash above his eyebrow. Unsteady on his feet, the unfocused look of mild concussion.

  ‘Frankie called an ambulance. Go and direct it.’ He stopped and thought it through. ‘Give them another call in case she didn’t.’

  He began a new bandage as Tedesco turned for the door.

  Kat pulled away. ‘Cal, stop.’ Her lips barely moved.

  He tightened his grip. ‘Hang on, sweetheart. Nearly finished.’

  Blood oozed through the material and ran over his hands. They were sticky with it. Why the fuck wouldn’t it stop bleeding?

  ‘Cal. Please. It. Hurts.’

  He began to cry: silent, wrenching sobs that threatened to tear out his throat. He wiped his eyes on his sleeve.

  ‘Almost done.’ Another layer. Still bleeding, but slower. He attempted to tie the material, but his fingers fumbled, thick and clumsy. He tried again, finally managed it.

  ‘All done.’

  She curled her arm protectively to her chest.

  He lifted her head onto his lap and stroked back her hair. ‘It’s over now, the ambos will be here soon. They’ll fix you up, give you something for the pain. They’ll do some proper bandaging, too. You’ll be good as new. Not much longer now. You’ll be fine. You’ll be fine.’

  There was movement in the doorway, uniformed men and women. Not paramedics, cops. People talking, yelling, more guns.

  Kat was shuddering now, her skin clammy. He gathered her in his arms and tried to warm her.

  A searing pain stabbed with each breath. Hadn’t felt his ribs until now, hadn’t felt anything except blind terror. And finally the ambos were there, easing his arms from around Kat, pulling him away. Bandages, IV units, stretchers. So cold. Shaking. Someone wrapped a blanket around his shoulders and shone a light in his eyes, asked stupid questions.

  Tedesco came over as they loaded Kat onto a gurney, speaking, maybe to him. Caleb nodded, not trying to follow.

  ‘… Cal …’

  ‘Yeah?’ His eyes were on Kat: there was a terrible stillness to her body. Why wasn’t she moving?

  Tedesco moved in front of him and gripped his shoulders, holding him in place. ‘You need … trate … You concentrating?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  Tedesco’s mouth moved slowly. ‘McFarlane had … gun … Understand?’

  ‘McFarlane had a gun.’

  ‘That’s right, McFarlane had Petronin’s gun, not you. You picked it up in the fight, but you didn’t bring it. Got that?’

  They were taking Kat out now. He had to go. Halfway out the door, he understood. He turned to Tedesco.

  ‘Thanks.’

  The big man nodded and turned away.

  They took them back to the Royal Melbourne. A different doctor, thank God. More uniformed people talked at him, but he turned off his aids and eventually they left him alone. Kat was wheeled away, wheeled back much later, groggy and blank-eyed. She murmured something incomprehensible and drifted off. He sat watch next to her, still wearing clothes stiff with blood.

  And sleep must have come at some stage, because the sun began to lighten the sky. He closed his eyes against it, unsure how to face the new day.

  EPILOGUE

  He went back to the Bay to see Gary buried, his body finally returned to his birthplace. They laid him to rest in the old cemetery on the hill, among the giant red gums and the graves of all the other local men who’d died too young. After the ceremony, the funeral party moved down to the gardens for the wake. It was a beautiful view: looking across the valley towards the sea. A boom box pumped out something with a driving beat and someone fired up the electric barbie. Caleb stood on the edge, watching it all. Kat was there, never looking his way. Her arm was in a sling and she was holding herself with the air of someone afraid of being bumped.

  The surgeon had visited the afternoon after her surgery, words full of consonants tripping from his tongue. Caleb had made him repeat everything and then write it down, but his message could be reduced to one word – hope. We hope Kathryn will regain full function in her hand; we hope her career and life and dreams weren’t destroyed while you stood by and watched, Mr Zelic. He’d tried to hold her when the surgeon left, but she’d turned her face from him and cried. When Maria arrived, he’d taken his cue to leave. They hadn’t spoken since.

  A presence by his side: Tedesco, looking like a distinguished thug in a dark suit and white shirt.

  ‘Uri. I didn’t know you were here.’

  ‘Least I could do after all the shit that was said about Gary. Struck me as a good bloke, a family man.’

  Caleb nodded and looked across to what was left of Gary’s family. The kids were clinging to Sharon, their eyes skittering away whenever anyone approached them. He’d only spoken to them briefly today: a toss-up whether that was from cowardice or kindness, although he had a bit of an idea. He was going to have to get over that if he was going to have a place in their lives.

  He looked back at Tedesco. ‘Is there any word on …’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Is anyone looking for her?’

  ‘Not hard. We’ve got nothing on her except shooting Grey-face. Even then – killing a known murderer in self-defence?’ He shrugged. ‘She’d walk with a good lawyer.’

  ‘She was working for Scott for years. Feeding him information and God knows what else. Probably while she was still a cop.’

  ‘And if we find any evidence of that, we’ll prosecute. If it makes it any better, I think she tried hard to keep you safe. Kat, too, until the end.’

  ‘I think …’ He said the words that had been burning his guts for the past ten days. ‘I think she was the one who called Gaz from the public phone.’

  Understanding flicked across Tedesco’s face, but he waited for Caleb to voice the idea.

  ‘I don’t think she missed Gary’s call that day. I think Gaz told her about the photos and she called Scott from the public phone to warn him. Then she rang Gary back and told him to wait for her.’

  ‘So who was Gary warning you not to trust when he texted you?’

  ‘Everyone. He just didn’t take his own advice.’

  The detective nodded. ‘Could be. Or he could have been warning you about Frankie, and answered the door to one of the other eight cops we’ve rounded up so far.’

  Nice fairy tale; pity he couldn’t make himself believe it. Tedes
co didn’t look too convinced by it, either. He was looking worn: the pouches under his eyes were a little heavier, a patch of bristles under his chin where he’d missed with the razor.

  ‘How are things?’

  Something crossed Tedesco’s face, quickly gone. ‘Still on leave pending the investigation, but I think it’s safe to say my popularity hasn’t risen. Killing a fellow cop will do that. Even a bent one.’

  Nicely side-stepped: just enough personal information to deflect the question. He thought back to those chaotic seconds in the warehouse, Tedesco wiping the blood from his eyes, trying to aim as McFarlane raised his own gun.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Caleb said. ‘I should have worked out that McFarlane and his mates were behind the first robbery, the buy-up of City Sentry.’

  He’d known the company had new owners; Elle had mentioned it, Frankie had made a note of it, but he hadn’t looked further than the company name. If he’d dug a little deeper he would have found McFarlane.

  Tedesco shook his head. ‘Seeing as it took a forensic accountant a while to work it all out, I wouldn’t be too hard on yourself. And what would it have told you anyway? A group of cops buy a security company? Nothing strange about that. And McFarlane was careful not to put his name anywhere.’

  ‘Did you know he was bent?’

  ‘Played me like a fucking violin. Biggest shock of my life, seeing him crawl out in front of you. Even then, I thought maybe it was some kind of elaborate sting. If I hadn’t seen what he did to Kat … Jesus.’ His mouth twisted. ‘The way he smiled when he cut her.’

  He could see it still: the grin, the slicing blade. It was etched on his retinas forever.

  ‘Fuck, sorry,’ Tedesco said. ‘That was thoughtless. How’s she doing?’

  ‘Surgeon’s hoping for full function in her hand.’ He forced himself not to look at her. ‘Did you work out how Spiros and Arnie were involved?’