by A. Nybo
“Lay it over him. Be careful of all that urine or whatever it is.” It stank like urine, but there was so much of it, and since it wasn’t pooled around Sergei’s groin, Leon had his doubts that if it was urine, it was Sergei’s. “Is there an ETA on the ambulance?”
“About twenty minutes.”
Jesus. Where were they coming from? Everything in Coober Pedy townsite was only minutes away. It wasn’t as if there was traffic to navigate.
With time to study Sergei’s outer wounds, Leon decided that, painful as they may be, none were potentially fatal—not that he could see. Even so, every minute the ambulance didn’t arrive was another minute Leon had to panic about what he wasn’t seeing.
Sergei’s breathing grew erratic, his nostrils flared, and pained groans accompanied his emerging consciousness.
“Sergei.” Leon stroked Sergei’s forehead and cheek. “It’s Leon.” He took the groan to be one of acknowledgement. “You’ve been attacked,” he continued. “There is an ambulance on the way.”
An attempt to speak elicited a throaty yelp.
“Shh,” soothed Leon. “Don’t try to talk. You’ve got something piercing up into your mouth. Just try to lie still.” He wanted to take Sergei’s hand, but both of them were swollen, and the red-rimmed white welts on them would be bloody painful enough without some dickhead squeezing them.
Sergei’s eyes fluttered open. When he blinked, his eyes rolled back, giving the impression that his eyelids were swallowing his vision.
The next time his eyes opened, he met and held Leon’s gaze. Leon offered what he hoped was a comforting smile. He cupped Sergei’s cheek, and when Sergei turned ever so slightly into Leon’s hand, something powerful and unspoken passed between them that caused a twisting in Leon’s chest. His eyes burned with threatening tears.
Although Sergei closed his eyes again and rested, Leon could tell by his breathing that he was still conscious. He took Sergei’s pulse intermittently and breathed a mental sigh of relief when he finally heard the ambulance siren in the distance. He was about to ask Rodney to ensure the ambulance stopped at Sergei’s but discovered Rodney wasn’t in the room.
“Hey,” Leon said quietly. Sergei opened his eyes. “They’re about to come in and take you to the hospital. I know where you’ll be, and I’ll be there as soon as I can.” Leon ran his thumb pad along Sergei’s cheekbone. “Don’t think you’re alone.” Sergei’s blink served as acknowledgement that he’d heard and understood what Leon was telling him.
The clatter of a gurney being brought down the stairs announced the arrival of the paramedics being ushered by Rodney.
Since they couldn’t give Sergei oral pain relief, they immediately set up an IV before cutting the metre-long protrusion, being careful not to disturb the piercing too much as they expressed concern about nerve damage.
One of the paramedics rang ahead and spoke with the doctor. When she got off the phone, she informed them that a flight was being organised with the Royal Flying Doctors to take Sergei to Adelaide as the trauma to his sublingual glands would require specialised surgery.
Leon had no idea what any of it meant, other than he wouldn’t be able to see Sergei soon. Panic seized him at being unable to speak with Sergei privately to arrange something. Who knew how long it would be before Sergei was well enough to be interviewed?
Despite the morphine, each movement as they bundled Sergei onto the gurney was accompanied by a pained groan, each one causing Leon to flinch inwardly. He’d never experienced such a reaction to a victim or a crime scene before, and it rattled him beyond understanding.
Seeing the ambulance drive Sergei away left him feeling bereft. Compensating, he turned his mind to the crime scene with venomous intensity. He marched to the vehicle and donned a Tyvek suit. By the time he whipped the camera from the back seat, the heat, amplified by the suit, nearly made him keel over. “Put your suit on and grab the sample bags,” he ordered Rodney.
“I’ve called Sarge. He’s on his way.”
“Great. Suit up and grab the sample bags.”
Leon, Rodney, and the ambulance crew had all trampled through the crime scene, but he photographed everything with meticulous attention to detail. If there was anything here he could nail this fucker with, he’d pin him to the wall by the balls and everything else that a nail could penetrate.
Moving throughout the house, Leon searched for clues of intrusion. The only thing he found that he could be sure was out of place was in Sergei’s bedroom. Near the doorway sat an oval frame with a stick, smooth as driftwood, jammed from one end of the frame to the other. Stretched from the outer frame to the stick were twined strands of leather, and someone had defecated right in the middle.
He took photographs of it in relation to its placement in the room. Once he managed to see past the defecation, he noticed a membrane on the bottom of the frame and realised he’d been examining an upside-down drum, although he’d never seen one in such a peculiar oval shape. He knelt to have a closer look.
“Jolly can take care of that.” Charlie’s voice from the doorway gave Leon a start.
Jolly stood by Charlie’s shoulder, scowling. Leon guessed he was stepping on Jolly’s toes, since he had been the photographer of the other crime scenes. Not wanting to create friction, Leon rose and handed him the camera.
“We’ll need to get some pictures of the other side of that,” he said as he walked from the room. He had to admit, Jolly’s timing had been impeccable—at least Leon didn’t have to bag the drum with the excrement on it.
He snapped on the gloves he’d tucked in his pocket and continued his search.
Charlie trailing him was grating on his nerves. “Are you interested to see what else might be found, or do you think I’m going to do something exciting?” Leon asked as he opened cupboard doors, scanned the contents, and then closed them.
“Just making sure you don’t mess with my crime scene.”
“Our crime scene,” Leon corrected as he checked another cupboard. “Don’t think I’m capable enough to process a scene?”
“That’s not what I’m saying.”
“Then what are you saying?”
Charlie looked over his shoulder and then turned back to Leon. “How about taking a walk outside with me?”
Leon searched Charlie’s face for clues as to what the private talk might be about but found nothing.
He removed the gloves and followed Charlie into the yard, which apart from the two police cars, looked ridiculously normal. He took the top of the Tyvek suit down to get some relief from the heat.
Once they were alone, Charlie turned to him. “Is there something I should know?”
“Such as?”
“Young Rodney said something strange occurred between you and the victim.”
Leon blinked and drew his head back. “Strange in what way?”
He frantically tried to recall if he had said or done anything that might have hinted there was something more between Sergei and him than either a professional or friendly relationship could account for. Something strange and powerful had happened, but nothing that could be identified by speech or behaviour—at least he didn’t think so. Since he’d had his back to Rodney, there was no way he could have seen anything, and to think he had sensed something was just playing into the hands of paranoia.
“He said you were stroking Sergei’s cheek and that something, ah, happened.”
Leon’s mind raced in search of a rational explanation. “Okay,” he drawled, stalling a moment longer. How did he explain away stroking a victim’s cheek? “His cheek was probably the only part of him that wasn’t injured. I wanted him to know help was on its way.”
If Charlie planned to pursue the unspoken moment that had passed between them, then Leon was going to make him work for it.
“He said it was—” Charlie hesitated. “—intimate.”
Leon wondered if Rodney knew Sergei was gay and was lending his own interpretation to the situation. He schooled him
self to caution. Being overly defensive would suggest guilt, so he tempered the sarcasm sitting on the tip of his tongue.
“It was,” he agreed. “There are few things as intimate as connecting with someone who is at their most vulnerable.” He waited for that to take hold before adding, “Just how many crime scenes has Rodney been on?” He felt like a heel turning it back on Rodney, but if the kid was going to run tattling to Charlie every time something happened, fuck him. “Did he think I was going to stand at the doorway and talk to the victim from there?” He distanced himself by not using Sergei’s name.
Charlie nodded. “Okay. Rodney can be a little strange at times, but I needed to check in with you. Arse covering and all that.”
“Sure. No problem.” Leon kept his exhalation of relief from bursting out. “Do you want me to leave your guys to process the scene? I don’t want to step on toes.” He really wanted to be away from there.
“We could do with another set of experienced eyes, but if you want to go and get cleaned up, we can hold the fort until then.”
“I wouldn’t mind. Smells like I’ve been pissed on by a tomcat,” said Leon. His trousers had already dried in the heat and were crusty at the knees, and the Tyvek suit seemed to be amplifying the stench.
IT WAS after nightfall by the time they had finished at the scene. Wanting to show his relationship with Sergei was aboveboard but needing to know how he was, Leon phoned the hospital as Charlie drove him back to the hotel. When they arrived in the car park, Charlie turned off the ignition. Leon took that as a sign that he too wanted a report on Sergei’s status.
Leon had barely rung off when Charlie spoke up. “How is he doing?”
“He’s had his sublingual gland removed, so he won’t be up to talking at any length for a few days. They don’t know whether there is any nerve damage yet, and even when they do, they won’t be able to tell how long it will last or if it’s permanent.”
“Sublingual gland?”
“A salivary gland beneath the tongue.”
“Oh.”
“The whip wounds that split have been cleaned and dressed with liquid skin. Unless they get infected, they shouldn’t need any more treatment. And the tattoo is being monitored for infection, and they’ll take bloods again in a few days and again at three months to ensure the needles were clean.”
“He was tattooed?” Apparently Rodney had forgotten to mention that little gem in his detailed report to Charlie. “What’s the design?”
“A bear and a wolf facing each other. At least that’s what they think it is.”
“So we’re not looking for a skilled tattooist, then,” said Charlie with apparent sarcasm. “Did they give any indication when he would be able to be interviewed?”
“Not for a few days at least, since talking is going to be a problem for him. Removal of the sublingual gland is usually a day surgery, but since it wasn’t a surgical incision, aspects of the wound itself might hinder healing.” Leon opened the car door. “They said they would know more in a few days.”
Charlie huffed. “Let’s hope we have a few days before we have another victim.”
“Oh shit. I forgot. There was a mutilated kangaroo in Thomas Goodwin’s bed.”
“Yeah, Rodney told me. He said you thought there was something wrong with the skeleton?”
“Yeah. I think we should check it out.”
“Tomorrow,” said Charlie. “Another few hours isn’t going to make much difference to the weeks it’s already been. I don’t think a dead kangaroo is worth more overtime.”
Leon nodded and got out of the car. “I’ll see you in the morning.”
Chapter 8
THEY RETURNED to Thomas Goodwin’s claim, and according to Jolly, none of the bones in the big red kangaroo’s lower body belonged to the kangaroo. They were collected and sent to forensics for DNA tests. They combed the mine in search of other evidence but found nothing.
The entire town of Coober Pedy was canvassed, along with all the off-site caravans they could find, but Pavel Bobrinsky was still the ghost he’d already proven himself to be.
It had taken three non-productive days of investigation for Leon to convince his superintendent to allow him a trip to Royal Adelaide Hospital to interview Sergei. He arrived in Adelaide at lunchtime on the fourth day following Sergei’s admission.
After rummaging through his luggage for something warmer than the lightweight shirt he’d left Coober Pedy in, Leon went straight from the airport to the hospital. The trip seemed to take forever, but when he finally walked into Sergei’s room to see him sitting propped up in bed, Leon couldn’t stop grinning.
As Sergei’s smile grew to a grin, he grunted and his mouth twisted. “That hurts,” he complained and fought to constrain his smile.
Leon wanted to touch him, hold him—perhaps a little over the top for an AFP agent-witness relationship. Not only was it inappropriate, but he didn’t know if it would be welcome on top of bruising and swelling, regardless of how gentle he might try to be.
“You look a lot younger without the whole beard and moustache thing going on,” said Leon, gesturing around his mouth. Sergei’s sharp jaw and strong chin made Leon wonder why he bothered with a beard. He’d show off assets like that.
“Still trying to get used to it. They shaved me again this morning so they could keep an eye on the wound. They had only shaved the beard off, so I told them to get rid of the lot. Have a clean start.” Sergei looked at the two bags Leon set down. “Are you moving in?”
The nurses had warned Leon that the slurring of Sergei’s words was due to the operation and not medication, but it was only slight.
“One is for you,” said Leon as he raised the bag he’d collected from Sergei’s house. “I brought toiletries and clothes. Since you arrived here impersonating a togaed Roman, I thought you might need something else to wear on the trip back home—when you’re released.”
He walked around the bed and positioned the chair he sat in so he could see the door, ensuring no one came up behind him while he was saying the inappropriate things he wanted to say. “Not that I would complain if you were to sit next to me on the plane naked, but others might.”
Sergei chuckled. “Keep that up, Doris, and you are going to be in a world of trouble.”
Sergei’s use of “Doris” hinted that if Leon persisted in flirting, his pathetic claims to professionalism wouldn’t be enough to keep them apart. The idea was both thrilling and frightening but was tempered by the knowledge that Sergei was in no fit state to do much of anything.
“Fair enough,” Leon acknowledged noncommittally. He put Sergei’s bag in the cupboard near the bed. “How are you feeling?”
“Sore. Happier now you’re here. Wanting to go home.”
“No surprises, then?”
Sergei raised a mocking eyebrow. “You’re not surprised I’m happier now you’re here?”
“The feeling is mutual.” Leon’s cheeks heated as he spoke far more intimately than he’d intended. He smiled and shook his head.
Why was he so flustered in that peculiar way when he was with Sergei? When he wasn’t with Sergei, mere thoughts of the man lightened his entire being, and if he couldn’t be with him, he could always wallow in memories of him—expressions, scents, tones of his voice. But when he was with him, Leon became almost like a stranger to himself.
It was beyond reverting to the teenager he once was, lacking in confidence and springing a boner at inopportune moments. Although with Sergei, he’d done that too. As strange as that had been—getting a hard-on when they were wrestling in the mine—it hadn’t embarrassed him. But there seemed to be a powerful emotional thing occurring between them that he was unaware of except when it came to his reactions—because he sure as hell was reacting to something, but damned if he could determine what.
Sergei rested the side of his face against the pillow and simply watched him, a mellow expression inhabiting his features. It was oddly attentive, and Leon felt cherished. The poten
cy of it made him so uncomfortable, he prodded Sergei to speech. “What?”
“Thank you.” The intensity in Sergei’s softly spoken gratitude told Leon he wasn’t thanking him for bringing clothes.
“What for?”
“For telling me I wasn’t alone.”
Leon frowned as he tried to remember saying that. “Oh. Oh! Maybe that’s what Rodney heard.” Seeing Sergei’s confusion, he explained, “After the ambulance left with you, Charlie pulled me aside and asked if there was anything I needed to tell him. When I asked what he meant, he told me Rodney had said something ‘strange’ had occurred between us.”
Sergei nodded. “I suspect he’s strong-blooded.”
“What does that mean?”
“He’s very intuitive and possibly open to apparitions of seeing and hearing.”
“Apparitions,” said Leon with amusement.
Sergei’s eyes narrowed. “They told me you were here to interview me, and if that’s true, Doris, you’re going to have to get used to the spiritual side of things, because that’s what this is.”
The biting scorn in Sergei’s tone and the anger in his eyes brought Leon up short. “Sorry. Apparently I’m not very accepting of spiritualism.”
When Sergei closed his eyes and sighed, Leon realised his apology was little more than a defensive reaction.
“I am sorry, Sergei,” Leon said quietly. “That was insensitive of me. I was trying to excuse myself and not really apologising for my beliefs.”
When Sergei opened his eyes again, the anger had dissipated somewhat. “I neither want nor expect you to apologise for your beliefs, and I don’t want to apologise for mine, but neither do I want mine belittled just because they are different from yours. I don’t discuss them for this very reason, but I find I have no choice here. If you want me to tell you what is really going on, you’re going to have to open your mind enough to allow the possibility that something else may exist.”
Torn between feeling thoroughly rebuked and eager to hear what Sergei thought was happening, he tried to be a little more respectful and view the situation from Sergei’s perspective.