by Logan May
Maybe she had to go to work really early? What did she do? Christ, what the hell was her name?’ Would his memory return as the hangover diminished? Should he try more alcohol as a kind of crime re-enactment thing?
Goodall was saying, ‘That shit you’re talking about was a big deal. It was over five years ago by now. What the hell do you want with that?’
Trying to make light of it, Lukas said easily, ‘I’ve got a lead that Hucknall is well and truly dead after all. I’d like to sort out a few loose ends in my head that’s all.’
Lukas could hear Goodall’s suspicion over the phone. ‘Of course, he’s dead. He would have popped up somewhere by now, if he wasn’t. Is that why they gave you a promotion just before you got fired? Coming up with brilliant detective work like that? What sort of lead?’
‘Sorry, can’t tell you. Client privilege and all that. You know I would, if I could.’
‘You’ve got clients?’
Taking a drag on his smoke and sighing it out, Lukas said, ‘Come on, Pete. Can you help me out or not?’
Goodall let him wait a moment longer. ‘I can’t email files like that to you. The IT nerds have put filters and crap on the computers and you need to be an approved recipient or some shit. If you come in, I’ll dump it onto a disk for you.’
‘You’re a good man, Pete. I owe you.’
‘Actually, I’ve just thought of something you can do for me in return. A small favour. No big deal, really. A piece of cake.’
It was Lukas’ turn to be suspicious. ‘Really? What is it?’
‘A bit of private investigating. Right up your alley. I’ll give you the address and you can drop by on your way here. Let me know what you think.’
‘Sure... ah, what’s it about?’
‘Don’t worry, like I said, it’ll be a piece of cake for a man of your talents.’ Goodall started laughing. Not a good sign.
*****
Lukas knocked on the door of small, red brick house surrounded by an immaculate garden. This was an area that had survived the expanding Melbourne CBD, a nook of quiet streets and large, shady trees almost in the shadows of the corporate skyscrapers. The turn-of-the-century homes had become very expensive real estate.
A shrill voice answered. The door rattled, opened and revealed a woman. She was forty-odd, stout and dressed in a skirt that would have pleaded for leniency if it had a voice. Her ample and very visible bosom was heaving with the effort of hurrying to the door. It paused momentarily with surprise, then the twin mounds of exposed flesh resumed pumping up and down with what Lukas could only interpret as enthusiasm. A slow and wide smile spread across her face, making him think of a crocodile that can’t believe its luck when a fat antelope strays within reach.
‘Mrs Shields?’ he asked, holding up a library card briefly. ‘I’m Lukas Boston. Detective Goodall should have called and you’re expecting me?’
‘Well, I wasn’t expecting you,’ she said with barely-suppressed excitement, moving aside. Mrs Shields didn’t seem the type to suppress much at all unless you counted the straining dress. ‘I’ve been trying to get interviewed by a real policeman for days, but I’m more than happy to speak with one of their consultants. Do come in.’
Consultant? Is that what Pete told her? Which sounded like the police paid him and he couldn’t charge a fee. Bastard.
She hadn’t stepped back quite enough, forcing Lukas to brush against her as went inside. He stammered an apology.
‘It’s Barbara, by the way,’ she breathed in his ear as he passed. ‘Barbara Shields. Please call me Barbara. Do you need to see some kind of identification of mine?’
Lukas decided that if she offered to show him a distinguishing tattoo in a discreet place he was out of there. Goodall could shove his files back up his arse.
‘No, that won’t be necessary at all,’ he said quickly.
‘All right. First door on the left then,’ she said, pointing down the short hallway.
Making sure it was a lounge or kitchen and not a bedroom, Lukas hesitated in the entrance and checked. He was safe—for the moment.
It was a crowded parlour room of polished, dark timber tables and casements lined with knick-knacks. An open fireplace wasn’t used, instead holding a basket of stuffed dolls. The mantelpiece was likewise filled with ornamental china plates and photographs. Lukas was relieved to see a pair of stuffed two-seater lounges. Just in case, he lingered as Barbara gestured for him to sit, watching which way she moved, then he perched on the edge of the lounge opposite her.
She suddenly cried, ‘Oh God! What am I thinking?’ and bounced back to her feet so abruptly Lukas almost drew his gun. ‘Would you like a tea or coffee?’
‘No—no, I’m fine.’ He waved a hand.
‘Are you sure? I’ve got a special machine that makes excellent coffee.’
‘That’s very kind of you, but...’ Lukas patted his stomach, then wondered what that was supposed to mean.
Barbara looked stricken. ‘And I’ve just made a fresh cake. I do a lot of baking. I’m a very good cook among my other talents.’ This was said with a slow wink and Lukas figured it might be a good idea to get her out of the room.
‘Okay, if you insist. But please, not too much,’ he said, patting his stomach again. Why do I keep doing that?
‘Don’t move, I won’t be a minute.’
The room felt much bigger after she was gone. Lukas looked around. A television in the corner was on, the sound muted. It was showing one of those talk-shows where the participants admitted to bizarre family problems and the audience voted on the best solution.
‘I’ll swap places with you,’ Lukas told the TV. ‘Scotty, beam me up for God’s sake.’
For the first time he noticed a faint acrid smell in the room.
An idea came to him and Lukas took out his mobile phone. He wasn’t adept at texting and he laboriously typed to Goodall the message, You are a prick and you owe me big-time, you bastard. He pressed send with only a small sense of satisfaction.
Barbara returned with a tray laden with mugs, sugar and milk, and two huge slabs of cake on plates. She pulled a coffee table between them and fussed with arranging everything. Lukas tried to smile gratefully. The cake looked like it might kill him within minutes.
Lukas took a deep breath and put on his serious, business face.
‘So Barbara, you’ve lost your cat?’
Barbara looked annoyed. ‘No, Lukas—can I call you that?’ Lukas nodded reluctantly. ‘I haven’t lost my cat, she has been stolen. Possibly kidnapped, which is more likely.’
‘Why do you believe that?’
‘Because she always comes home, of course.’
‘I see, and how long since you’ve last seen your cat?’
‘Esther.’
‘I’m sorry?’
‘Esther. It’s the name of my baby. She was the most famous of Persian queens and my cat is a Persian. Didn’t you see the photograph?’
‘Ah, which one?’
Barbara stood up and swept a framed picture from a bookshelf. Before he could do anything about it she sat back down next to Lukas. Their thighs rubbed. So did their shoulders when Barbara held the photograph in front of his face. The picture was of a very furry, untidy white cat staring angrily into the lens.
‘Isn’t she gorgeous, Lukas?’
‘I’m afraid I’m not much of a cat person, Barbara. I’ll have to take your word for it.’ Lukas tried to put some space between them. The sagging lounge didn’t let him.
Something else made sense now. The fine coating of white over everything. Cat’s hair. Worse, it was as if Lukas was wearing some kind of cat’s fur magnet sucking every hair towards him, sticking to his clothes. And that smell. Cat’s piss everywhere. Esther must have had a bladder that could put out forest fires.
His phone vibrated with a message. Lukas apologised and took it out, struggling to hide the screen from Barbara’s curious eyes. It was from Goodall.
Just keep screwing her until she
forgets about the cat. Problem solved.
‘Important?’ Barbara asked with wide eyes.
‘Something’s come up,’ Lukas said gravely.
‘Oh, how exciting!’ She pulled a funny face and glanced at his crotch.
Don’t move a muscle, Lukas. Pretend it never happened. He said quickly, ‘Sorry, now I can’t stay long at all. So tell me, who do you think will have kidnapped your cat?’ Lukas was thinking it was the Number 3 bus and Esther was little more than a stain on the street somewhere.
‘My ex-husband, of course.’
Of course. There’s always an ex-husband to bloody complicate things. Lukas almost groaned.
‘Why would he resort to such tactics? It seems... excessive.’
Barbara’s bosom was heaving again, this time with outrage.
‘Because he knows how much Esther means to me and what she is worth.’
‘Worth? What do you mean?’
‘Lukas, my dear Esther is a very valuable breed and a champion example of her kind. It’s wrong to put a monetary figure on my baby, but I suppose you could say she’s worth... perhaps seven thousand dollars?’
‘Fucking how much?’
‘I beg your pardon?’
‘I’m sorry—I mean, it’s... just a cat, right?’
‘No, she’s not just a cat. Esther is my pride and joy, the most precious thing in the world.’
Lukas hid his face behind the coffee cup for a moment.
He said, ‘So your husband will have kidnapped Esther to demand something in return? Like what? Money?’
Barbara’s face went grim. ‘Freedom. A quick divorce so he can marry the slut he’s living with now.’
Right, make that really complicated.
Lukas sighed. ‘Give me some details so I can go and check this out. That’s first on the list.’
He stood up, preparing to leave. Barbara was disappointed, but didn’t argue. She scribbled something onto a notepad, tore the page off and gave it to him, tucking it into his top pocket. Standing very close.
‘You’ll find him and that scheming bitch here. I’ll bet it’s all her idea. Have you got a card?’
‘A card?’
‘A business card, so I can call you, if something happens.’
‘Oh, sure...’ There was no escaping it. Lukas took one from his wallet and gave it to her. ‘Please Barbara, only call me if something important happens, okay? Leave everything else to me.’
‘What about dinner then?’
‘What?’
‘What about coming around for dinner one evening? I told you, I’m a very good cook.’
He gave her a sad smile. ‘I’m afraid that I’m one of those people who have to be extremely careful about what I eat. I have to cook for myself. It’s a carefully balanced diet. I make a point of never asking anyone to put themselves to so much trouble.’
Barbara’s face lit up. ‘You have to cook for yourself? You live alone? At home?’
Shit, shit, shit...
‘I can’t go into details about my personal life, Barbara. For security purposes.’
She beamed at his business card as if it held the secret to eternal youth. ‘I’ve done courses in special diets. You just tell me what’s needed and I’ll cook you up the best meal you’ve ever had.’
‘We really need to focus on finding Esther,’ Lukas tried.
‘See? You’re already turning into a cat lover, too. That’ll be from seeing her photo. It has that effect on everyone. I can see that you and I are going to get on very well, Lukas. The best of friends.’
Lukas’ fingers were flexing, imagining plucking the card back out of her grasp. Instead he turned, hurried down the hallway and fled out the door.
*****
Lukas’ car was a battered Ford, an ex-police car he’d picked up the auctions. He could easily afford something better, but too often Lukas had to park in parts of the city where passers-by dragged coins down the paintwork of expensive cars simply to improve their hand-eye co-ordination. The Ford attracted far less attention.
He sat behind the wheel and took a deep breath to clear his head, getting more than a whiff of cat’s piss. ‘Filthy moggy bastard,’ he growled and wound down the window to let in the crisp autumn air. It didn’t really help, so he lit a cigarette, tipped his head back and closed his eyes gratefully, feeling the smoke ransack his lungs.
A voice came from behind him.
‘Here we go again.’
Lukas cried out in surprise, jerking around to look in the back seat. It was empty. ‘What the...’
Something in the rear view mirror caught his eye.
Gavin Hucknall was sitting behind him.
Lukas fought the urge to throw himself out of the car. He clenched his fists to keep himself calm.
‘What the fuck do you want, Hucknall? Why are you bothering me?’
‘You nearly got me killed, Mr Boston. That wasn’t very nice. You owe me. I want you to do something about it.’
‘I nearly got you killed? Have you seen yourself lately? You’re not looking well.’ Lukas twisted again towards the back seat and still couldn’t see anybody. Snarling in frustration he turned back to mirror.
Hucknall was gone.
‘Jesus,’ Lukas collapsed into his seat and rubbed furiously at his face with both hands. He forgot about the cigarette in his fingers, jabbing it into the roof of the car and bring a shower of hot ash onto his head. Lukas swore loudly over and over, scrabbling at his hair.
He had no idea what Hucknall wanted, but Lukas could guess the debt he supposedly owed was about the amount of grief he’d caused Hucknall during the investigation. Like hell he had to pay Hucknall anything back for that. But the criminal mind worked in mysterious ways. The stupid ones, at least. He had to do something about what? The drug task force was long shut down, the files closed, Hucknall was dead even if he didn’t know it himself, so ordinarily Lukas couldn’t have cared less.
Except it wasn’t so simple. He needed to find out more, if he wanted to stop Hucknall’s ghost from dropping into his life like this whenever it wanted. It could ruin Lukas’ sex life—and any extremely important lost cat investigations, too.
Plus someone was shooting at Lukas and while it wasn’t definite the two situations were connected, the coincidental timing was hard to ignore.
FOUR
Constable Elizabeth Reynolds was on the reception desk of the Detectives Division. This improved Lukas’ day. Elizabeth was an extremely attractive girl who utterly failed to disguise her looks despite the amount of effort she devoted to the task. Her dark hair was drawn back into a severe bun, make-up was scarce aside from the hint of lip gloss and she invariably wore a dead-pan expression that could turn men to stone if they missed—or worse, ignored—the message she was putting out.
‘Hello, Beth,’ Lukas said. ‘Now everything looks a whole lot brighter.’ He leaned on the countertop and gave her The Smile.
‘Don’t do that, Lukas,’ she said, without looking up from some paperwork.
‘Don’t do what?’
‘Smile at me like that. It’s never going to work and I’m getting annoyed you keep trying it.’
‘I’m only smiling, for God’s sake.’
‘No, you’re not. You’re trying to convince me to like you, then like you a bit more until I agree to some kind of gratuitous date which should eventually result in my sleeping with you.’ She gestured dismissively, not raising her eyes from the documents. ‘For the record, if this can possibly put an end to the matter, you are a very good-looking man with a fine, athletic physique. That slight brogue you put on whenever you’re talking to women has its moments, even if it is a bit silly. I suspect that you dye your hair, because it’s impossibly black and shiny, but I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt—’ Still without looking up she raised a finger to stop him interrupting. ‘However, none of these are remotely enough to persuade me to become your latest, bedroom conquest. For goodness sake, give it up will you?’ Now she
stared at Lukas, picked up the papers and shuffled them into shape, before snapping a stapler close to Lukas’ fingers. He snatched his hand back.
Lukas said, ‘I suppose sex in a hot-tub is out of the question, too?’
‘Can I bring a knife?’ she said acidly. ‘You know people bleed out faster in warm water?’
‘I think we should forget this conversation ever took place and start again another day. You’ve had a bad morning.’
‘I’ve had a bad morning now.’
‘It’s good that I know you’re not being serious, Beth. Otherwise I’d be deeply hurt. Anyway, I’ve come to see Pete Goodall. Can you buzz me through?’
Beth’s hand moved to a button behind the desk. ‘I can’t wait for the day when I can treat you like every other criminal we get in here.’
‘Oh, I’ll be playing this game for a few years yet,’ he said, winking at her as he moved to the door.
‘Damn it, did you just wink at me?’ She hefted the stapler again.
Lukas hurried through the security door into the large, open plan office where the branch’s detectives worked.
The truth was that Lukas wasn’t really fired from the Victorian Police Force. He’d resigned before they kicked him out. In the process he racked up a ton of brownie points with many of his colleagues, because an unpleasant scandal had been about to break out and a lot of people were in the firing line. At the time Lukas was in a funk about his career and on an impulse he chose to take the brunt of the blame, saving everyone a heap of trouble. The sacrifice was quietly acknowledged, deals were cut and Lukas escaped with little more than a slightly soiled reputation. The union even got all his wages and entitlements paid, which he didn’t really need thanks to his father’s investment portfolios—given to Lukas when his parents fled the city in search of sunshine, cold beer and retirement. The scandal was soon forgotten, replaced by the next one.
This was why Lukas could walk into the Detectives Division with impunity any time he liked, ask for favours that irritated people, and essentially still act and behave like a fully paid-up member of the police department.