Scarlet Stiletto - the First Cut

by Lindy Cameron

  Erk! Probably some foul garbage. Then I almost slapped myself on the forehead. “Clot,” I muttered aloud. Before leaving home I had slipped my small torch into my trouser pocket. I pulled it out and switched it on. The light fell on the unblinking eyes and sagging jaw of a man. Emma was busy licking his face!

  “Ugh, Emma! Leave off!” She looked at me then back at the body. “Somehow I don’t think you can revive him, girl.”

  Even so, I reached and felt his neck. His skin still felt warm but there was not a flicker of a pulse. I pushed myself to my feet. His chest was a mass of blood. I shone the torch on my hand. Yuk! It was covered in blood.

  “Okay, that’s it, Emma. Let’s scarp.”

  I grabbed the dog’s lead and dragged her to the gate. Whoops! Stop, you idiot! What if the killer was still lurking out there, waiting to kill you, too? I switched the torch off and peered up and down the street. Once again, there was not a soul in sight. Where was everyone? Where were the police?

  Then, to add insult to injury, it started to pour.

  “Come on, Emma, let’s make a dash for the pub on the corner.”

  Breathless, I pushed through the hotel doors and rushed to the reception desk, leaving a dripping, muddy trail across the polished tiles.

  The young man eyed me suspiciously. “Hey, lady, you can’t bring your dog in here”

  “Phone! Where’s your phone?”

  The young man continued to look me up and down. I swivelled and caught sight of myself in a mirror. God, I looked like I’d been dragged through a muddy battlefield. The hood of my raincoat had slipped back and my usually neat blonde hair hung in a damp, dark mat. My face was wet and grimy. But, worst of all, the front of my coat was smeared with blood from my boobs to my stomach.

  I turned back to the desk. ‘Phone!” I repeated. “I need to call the police, now! There’s been a murder.”

  “Oh, right, yes ma’am! You want me to dial triple-O for you?” The guy asked without taking his eyes from me. Obviously, he assumed I was the murderer.

  “No, I’ll do it. I know the number I need to ring.”

  He hastily slid a phone across the desk.

  Fifteen minutes later, the street was lit up by flashing blue lights. In the interim, I had dried myself, and dog, as best I could with paper towels in the ladies’ room. The face at least was clean, but the hair was still a disaster and I could do nothing about the blood.

  I thanked the young man, who was busy mopping up human and dog footprints from the floor, then headed out to greet the police.

  “Thank god you’re here, Jim,’ I called to the driver as he stepped from the car. “The body’s around the corner and halfway down the block.” I pointed in the general direction.

  “Gees, Jane, you look like shit. Is that blood all down your front?”

  “Nice to see you, too. If you’d been through what I have, you’d look like shit as well,” I said. “And, yes, it is blood.”

  “Get in the car. You look about ready to drop.”

  “I am. The dog will have to come too, though.”

  Jim took one look at the bedraggled Emma and shook his head. “Not in my car, it won’t.”

  “Then I’ll walk. It’s not that far.”

  Jim’s brow furrowed. “What if the gunman is still hanging around? Get in the car, woman. Bill can walk the dog.”

  Bill slid out of the car and took Emma’s lead. “Hi Jane,” he said, then he too looked me up and down. “Hell, you look like ...”

  “Not another word!” I snapped. “I bloody well know what I look like!”

  “Oh, yeah, okay. So, where is the stiff?”

  I gave him directions and fell gratefully into the passenger seat.

  “Didn’t know you had a dog,” Jim said, gunning the engine.

  “Emma’s not my dog. She belongs to Paul Grant. I’m the muggins who was silly enough to save him kennel fees while he’s off sunning himself in Cairns.”

  “So the dog found the body?”

  “We both found it. I just did it the hard way. Fell over it, hence the blood. Whoa, stop! That’s the yard there. Okay, he’s all yours now; or rather, the Coroner’s.”

  “You are positive he’s dead then?” Jim asked.

  “Dodo dead.”

  “And you said you got a good look at the perp?”

  “Yes, thanks to a lightning flash. The odd thing is, I sort of recognised him.”

  “Great!”

  “No, not great. It’s the kind of face you know you’ve seen, but can’t think from where. You know, an out-of-place type of face.”

  “Oh, yeah, that sort of face,” Jim said. “I passed my dentist on the street the other day and didn’t recognise him without his white coat and drill.”

  “Yes, exactly that sort of face. It may come to me eventually,” I agreed.

  “Well, who better than you to give us a good ID? Not every day the police artist finds a corpse.”

  “Aren’t I the lucky one? And here I was planning a quiet week’s holiday. Aside from running around the streets looking for grass, that is. Paul’s sure going to cop it when he gets back. Certainly didn’t expect to be back at my computer tonight.”

  “Wasn’t Paul’s fault you found a body, though.”

  “Was too. Do you honestly think I’d have been wandering the back streets in the middle of a thunderstorm for pleasure? Emma needed to do wees, no less.”

  “Oh. Paul’s in deep shit, then,” Jim chuckled.

  “Big do-do. You don’t know the half of it, mate. Paul’s already mounted up mega bucks of compensation and I’ve had Emma since only two this afternoon.”

  We were about to get out of the car when Bill Hoskins beckoned from the footpath. Emma, bless her doggie soul, had led him straight to the body. I wound down the window and Bill leaned in.

  “Better call in the crew, Jim.”

  “Oh, speaking of the crew,’ I said, “I know it’s a long shot and there’ll no doubt be hundreds of prints on it, but he did flatten his hands on the fence there. The wonder dog smashed him into it.”

  It was three hours later that I finally got seated at my workstation and began to bring the murderer’s face to life. A patrol car had driven me home and waited while I quickly showered, changed, dried my hair and settled Emma down on her portable bed in front of the television. The latter on Paul’s instructions! ‘Makes her feel likes she’s got company if you go out and leave her,’ he’d said. Gees! A TV addict!

  Then of course I’d spent some time being interviewed by the Homicide boys. I was feeling ragged by the time they’d grilled me. They’d undone all the good the hot shower had achieved.

  “So,” I said to the computer, “this is what I’m trained for.” The great thing was, I found it simple to work on the photo-fit image I wanted. Usually it’s a slow process when dealing with a witness to a crime.

  “Yes, that’s him,’ I said smugly to Jim, sitting at my side.

  “Still familiar to you, Jane? He’s sure not to me.”

  “He is, but I still haven’t a clue from where.”

  “Okay, we’ll spread his face across the State. Maybe we’ll get lucky. Oh, and I forgot to tell you, the print guys lifted forty-odd sets of prints from the fence.”

  “That’s what I figured.” I pushed back my chair. “I’m out of here. Bushed.”

  “I’ll get you a driver,” Jim said, “and I think we’ll get a car to watch your place tonight, just in case the little turd followed you home.”

  “Do you really think that’s necessary, Jim? My guess is he got as far away from the crime scene as he could, as quickly as he could. He thought I had a mobile with me.”

  “Can’t be too careful. He’s killed once. He won’t think twice about bumping off the only witness to his crime.”

  I shivered. Cairns was suddenly looking pretty good to me right now.

  As we rode down in the lift Jim chatted about mundane things, probably to take my mind off crazy killers.

&nb
sp; “By the way, did you back a winner in the Cup today?”

  “No. Was going to Caulfield with Leonie, but the dog changed all my plans. Paul’s flight left at three and he dropped her off on the way to the airport. Didn’t even get into the sweep here. So my day was a washout.”

  Jim chuckled. “Literally, a washout. When you came out of the pub you looked like you’d been in Cyclone Tracy.”

  “Don’t remind me, okay?”

  Before I fell into bed, I looked out the window. The unmarked car was still across the road, keeping vigil. Comforting. Also I moved Emma’s bed just inside my bedroom door. Mind you, I had no idea whether she would attack or welcome an intruder. Having seen her licking the corpse’s face, I had to wonder.

  I read a few pages of my book then turned off the lamp and snuggled beneath the doona. But, as tired as I was, sleep eluded me. I kept playing back the night’s events over and over in my mind, trying to recall where I’d seen the killer. Finally I got up to make a mug of cocoa in the microwave. While it was heating, I wandered to the living room window, slid the door open and stepped onto my miniscule balcony. No police car!

  As I turned back inside I heard a scraping sound coming from the front door. I crept to the hallway. More sounds. Metal on metal!

  Cursing myself for not having put a chain on the door, I looked frantically around for a weapon. No baseball bat, no hockey stick, no brass candlestick. Just my soggy raincoat hanging limply on the hook behind the door. Then I spotted the fly spray on the hall table. My trusty spider killer.

  I grabbed the spray and coat and stood behind the door, pulse racing. The door opened slowly and the first thing I saw was a hand, with gun!

  Finger on the spray nozzle I reached round the door and gave him a continuous burst of Pea Beu. He let out a chain of expletives and the gun went off! Chunks of plaster fell from my ceiling, he’d shot a dirty great hole in it. I slammed the door on his hand, he dropped the gun, then I jerked the door back. He had both hands over his eyes. I threw the coat over his head and with everything I had, shoved him backwards and down he went. He slid off the landing, somersaulted down twenty concrete steps and finished in a heap at the bottom.

  I stared down at him. He was still tangled in the raincoat and lying perfectly still. Had he broken his neck? With my luck tonight, I’d probably now be charged with murder!

  Then I spotted movement. Hell, the bastard was still alive! I raced to my bag and grabbed my mobile and ran back to the door. He was free of the coat and starting back up the stairs. I pocketed the mobile and grabbed his gun. With hands shaking, I aimed it down the stairwell and fired. All I managed to do was take a chunk of concrete out of one of the steps!

  ‘Bloody bitch!’ He shouted, turned on his heel and flew down the steps. He tripped on the last one and fell over the low brick fence. He picked himself up, glared up at me, shook his fist and took off into the night.

  I let out a whoop. The incredible thing was, seeing him on the other side of the fence instantly reminded me of where I seen him before!

  “Got you, you little shit!” I roared.

  I collapsed on the step, buried my face in my hands and began to laugh hysterically.

  Next thing I knew, two cops were leaning over me. My wayward bodyguards had returned. One of them carefully removed the gun from my hand. He whipped a handkerchief from his pocket and wrapped it, just as carefully.

  “Never any around when you need them,’ I muttered.

  They introduced themselves and I ushered them inside.

  “He do all this damage?” John Selkirk asked, taking in the room.

  “No, that was the dog.”

  “Oh.”

  It took me a few minutes to tell the shamefaced guys my tale. They’d taken time-out to get some takeaway food.

  However, the wheels of the law soon burst into action. Jim Oliver arrived and I let him in.

  He scanned the room. “Weren’t satisfied with the decor, Jane? The carpet’s a good look. Perp do that?”

  I clenched my teeth. “Part of Emma’s bill.”

  “Oh, shit. Enough said. Okay, what happened?”

  I repeated my story.

  “So how come you remembered him?” Jim asked.

  “When he looked up at me from the other side of the fence, something clicked. I immediately got a mental picture of him behind the counter of the TAB. The thing is, I haven’t put a bet on for about three weeks. I was too busy moving in here.”

  “Well, as it happens, we have ID’d the stiff. One of those quirks of fate, you might say. One of the guys at the morgue recognised him; keen punter who frequents the local TAB. Body belongs to the manager. We’re thinking robbery of the day’s takings.”

  “That figures.” I nodded. “Big haul today, I imagine.”

  “Should be. The computers will tell us just how much. So, with your info, we now know it was an employee, not just some crim off the street.”

  I grinned smugly. “And, if you get prints from the gun—that aren’t mine of course—they should match one of the sets on the fence.”

  “Brilliant, that’s what you are.”

  “I know. Me and my borrowed dog.”

  Then he pursed his lips and raised an eyebrow.

  “What?” I said.

  “We can match the bullets.”

  Doh!

  Jim rang me at eleven the next morning. They had taken the killer into custody. His name was Robert Brian Spanner, a.k.a. ‘Shifty’. But not shifty enough, it seems. When they burst into his shabby dwelling, he was swilling beer while watching the motor racing on TV. His haul, upwards of $200,000, was spread on the table in front of him.

  “Emma,” I said after Jim hung up, “we made a great combination. However, we do need to find you a patch of grass closer to home. Fetch the street directory, girl.”

  Emma put her head on the side and made a gurgling sound. Did that mean ‘idiot’ in dog talk?

  Liz Cameron

  Third Prize, 2002

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  ~ * ~

  Pecking Order

  This is not a cool story for vegetarians. I myself was a vegetarian for a short time. However, even though I will never eat meat again (and here I include fish), an horrific action I took disqualifies me from the pure status of vegetarian. I’ve given myself a ten-year sentence for my crime. I’ll be twenty-five by the time I can declare myself a bona fide vegetarian. Do I have regrets? Was it worth it? Would I do it again? Yes, yes, and yes again.

  I read that after a traumatic event it’s advisable to tell the story to sympathetic ears at least eight times. As this is not a story I can tell to my friends, not least because of my recently acquired stutter, I am hoping that the act of writing it down will do the same job.

  This tale of great changes begins, typically you might think, on a Monday. Monday morning had always been a wrench for Mum and me. All weekend we’d be outside doing countless, interesting projects on our two-acre block, then reach Monday morning and it’d be, ‘Oh, no! Back to reality!’ I loved being with Mum, doing projects, gardening. Until a year and a half ago, that is. Until then I thought Mum and I were both blissfully happy, busy little bees. But apparently, according to Trevor, I was wrong.

  A year and a half ago, Trevor arrived on the scene, became Mum’s live-in partner (notice I don’t volunteer the term ‘step-dad’), and then the world I knew, and everything I thought was important to me, changed.

  Although it was a project—Project Chooks—which led to the murderous act that would ultimately put a stop to the world that Trevor had forced upon us, I believe it was only a vehicle. I would have found some other way to rock our so-called family’s boat. I had to. It needed it.

  The idea for Project Chooks came at the tail end of the first weekend Mum and I had spent together since Trevor moved in eighteen months ago. We’d had such a good time. We’d made this awesome sandpit for my half-sister, Caitlin, who’s very cute, only sixteen months old and staggering around on her tw
o pins.

  Maybe you’ll have gathered by now that Caitlin is the reason why Trevor moved in with us. Mum got pregnant when she had a one-night stand with Trevor after her end-of-year work party. One minute there’s just us, next there’s Trevor, and a few months later, Caitlin, too! Mum was unbelievably happy to be pregnant. I didn’t fully grasp the fact that our radically altered living situation was permanent. When I did, I went into shock.