‘That’s not surprising after having your brain bouncing about in your skull,’ said Ellie. ‘You’re still recovering. You need to rest.’
‘You can sit out in the backyard under the tree and read,’ Lara said.
‘I don’t want to be a burden on you, Lara. I want to help round the house. Or maybe in the garden?’
‘That would be good but you can’t do anything strenuous for a while.’
‘Cooking dinner and weeding isn’t strenuous.’
Lara smiled at the anxious expression. The girl was desperate to do the right thing. Ellie was right, they’d all get on well together. Petey came to the bench where they sat, carrying his bowl.
‘I want more cake, pease.’
‘Can he?’ Brooke asked. Lara nodded. Brooke quickly took his bowl and gave him another slice. ‘There you are, Petey. More yummy cake for you.’
‘Yummy cake,’ he said and stuck his finger into it. ‘I like cake and I like chocit.’
‘What do you say to Brooke?’
‘Ta.’
‘Good boy.’
‘He’s such a darling,’ Brooke said. ‘I’d like to work with small children.’
‘Are you doing a course?’
She shook her head. ‘I can’t afford to study and keep myself at the same time. I’ve been saving — trying to, anyway.’
‘It’s a good area to get into. They sure need childcare workers.’ Ellie heaved herself off the stool. ‘I’d better go, girls. See you later.’
‘Thank you, Ellie. It was lovely to meet you.’
Lara stood up. ‘Thanks, Ellie.’
‘You’ll be seeing plenty more of me. I’ll see myself out, Lara.’ Ellie waved as she disappeared down the hallway.
‘She’s a lovely person.’ Brooke drained her tea and began clearing the dirty crockery. ‘Does she have family?’
‘One single son — he might be gay but I haven’t asked — is in Canberra and one lives in Switzerland with his family. She misses them so she uses us instead.’ Lara smiled. ‘It works both ways.’
‘Don’t you have — ’
The phone started ringing.
‘Excuse me.’ Lara went to pick up. Saved by the bell. Brooke was about to ask about her own family and Lara wasn’t ready to confide. This would be Nick checking on them. His concern, for that’s what it was, warmed her and her pulse increased its pace from an amble to a jog as she put the phone to her ear.
‘It’s Nick. Is everything okay?’
Lara glanced at the other two. Brooke had begun stacking mugs into the dishwasher. Petey was still engrossed with dismembering the slice of cake.
‘Hi. Yes it is.’ Why were her legs suddenly rubbery? And her palms clammy. She wiped her hand on her shorts as she took the phone to the living room. Her skin prickled. Humid today, that would be it. And her voice was barely working. Ridiculous. Just because he’d called in and she’d invited him to dinner and he’d stayed. Why wouldn’t he with a free meal on offer? It meant nothing.
‘You’ll call me if you’re worried?’
‘Yes.’ Get a grip. Brooke’s here. He knows that, he’s doing his job. Remember that. Remember, full stop! This man is a cop.
‘I may drop by later.’
A crazy surge of anticipation flooded her body but she must not let herself step into an emotional minefield of her own making or anyone else’s. No way was she doing that again.
‘You don’t need to.’ A harsher tone than she intended.
‘I need to talk to Brooke.’ His was several degrees cooler by comparison.
‘Has something happened?’
‘A new lead. It might trigger a memory.’
‘She said she can remember most stuff now except what happened after she left work that afternoon.’ She gave the information grudgingly. What was their problem? Surely it can’t be that hard to find a man who drugged his dates? Brooke might not be the first and wouldn’t be the last. They needed to get their act together.
‘Good. We won’t give up on this, Lara. We’ll catch this guy.’
‘So you keep saying.’ When? That was the real question.
‘It’s the truth.’
Nick hung up, frustration making him slam the phone down. But the lightweight plastic couldn’t provide as satisfying a thud as he wanted. Those heavy old phones were much better, the type his grandparents had before technology overcame them and left them gasping in confusion. Big, hefty and black with a silver dial and a piercing ring.
What was with that woman? One minute she was friendly and relaxed the next he’d said or done something wrong and she was an iceberg. Dropping in on her a second time appeared to be a no-no. But this was police business and she was involved, whether she wanted to be or not, by the simple fact she was sheltering Brooke, the victim. He wasn’t visiting Lara. He was visiting Brooke. In fact he didn’t need to go at all. Marie could do it. She was the one who came up with the lead anyway, when she went back to the café. Internet dating.
His phone rang.
‘Someone here from the drug squad to see you, detective.’
‘Okay.’ He sighed. Probably coming to tell them to back off on some case that overlapped or to ask for cases files. Moments later a shaven-headed, square-built man in jeans and a T-shirt straining over bulging muscles appeared in the doorway. Another fitness junkie. In his case he’d exploded outwards as opposed to Marie who’d turned stick thin. Been at the steroids perhaps? He looked like a bull, ready for a fight. A barbed wire tattoo ringed his massive bicep. He held out a hand, smiled, ice blue eyes twinkled.
‘Steve Wingate. Drug squad.’
‘Nick Lawson. What can I do for you?’
‘Made any headway with that home invasion? The Lincolns? Wife and child threatened, husband bashed and tortured.’
‘Not really. Why?’
‘We’re looking at a group, relatively new on the scene. Making a play on the street.’
‘I thought the drug scene was pretty much sewn up by the local gangs.’
‘It is but these people have come in from interstate. Don’t know much about them but word is they were in Melbourne and got out after Tony Petrovic was killed.’
‘He was no loss.’
‘No but after he died it was a free for all. Did a fair bit of our work for us by bumping each other off. Some cleared out for new pastures.’
‘So what can we do for you?’
‘Keep us in your loop. If you come up with any leads we’d be grateful if you let us know.’ So they could jump in first? Or warn Nick’s team off? He’d been on the wrong end of these jurisdictional overlaps before. The drug squad generally assumed they took precedence over the local plods.
‘Got any names?’
‘Only one — guy known as Mack.’
Meant nothing to Nick. None of their informants had mentioned him.
‘Scottish?’
‘Could be, could be a nickname. Mack the Knife maybe?’
‘If we find who did this we’ll be making our own arrests.’
‘I’m just asking you to tell us first before you go in.’ The friendly smile eased to polite. He put a business card on the desk and held out his hand again. Nick shook it firmly.
‘I’ll do my best.’
‘Cheers, mate.’ One last penetrating stare then Steve nodded and left.
Maybe that was why they weren’t making any headway. Not the usual suspects. And if this Mack was connected to Petrovic they were dealing with a whole new level of ruthlessness. Another deep sigh escaped. God he hated this — paddling about in the murk of other people’s filthy lives, trying to clean up the muck they left behind them in their greedy struggle for power, status and money.
Maybe he should put in for a transfer sooner rather than later. Head out to some country town where the worst crime involved speeding or the odd break-in by kids. And die of boredom. What a choice. Deep down he knew it wasn’t a real choice at all. This was where he belonged and he liked the work on a gut lev
el. Nothing more satisfying than clearing a case and bringing some scumbag to justice. Trouble was there was an endless supply of them.
Those bastards contaminated lives in a wide ripple effect. Like a toxic waste spill spreading far beyond the initial site and with a half-life of generations. Not just their victims and their families were affected but their own families as well. What chance did the children of these criminals have trained as they were from birth to break the law? Or rather to ignore the law and regard society and its guardians the police and the courts as the enemy. He wouldn’t go so far as to say it was in the blood but when push came to shove blood was thicker than water and these crime families rarely broke ranks.
And now Wingate announces that some of Tony Petrovic’s spin-offs have moved north. Bloody hell. As if they didn’t have enough of their own crims without the Melbourne overflow of effluence.
Marie came in and dropped into her chair. ‘What’s wrong with you?’
‘Had a visit from the drug squad wanting to know what was happening with the Lincoln case.’ He ignored the face she pulled. ‘Said word is some of Tony Petrovic’s crowd moved here after the shit hit the fan when he died.’
‘Does he think they’re involved?’
‘Could be. He wants a heads up if we find anything.’
She sniffed. ‘Rob’s on that with Brian.’
‘I know. I want you to visit Brooke today.’
‘Can’t. Not today, and tomorrow I’m in court for the Casey trial. That’ll go all day.’
He frowned, annoyed at her abrupt derailment of his avoidance plan. ‘Why not today?’
‘Specialist appointment we’ve waited four months for. I’ve told you.’
‘Right.’ She had and he hadn’t asked why. It was fairly common knowledge in the immediate team that Marie and her husband were wanting a family and having trouble.
‘Sorry. You’ll have to go or wait until the day after.’ She pulled a pile of papers towards her and began scribbling notes.
Nick stared at his computer screen pretending to be reading something while in reality his brain sorted through his body’s reaction to that annoying piece of information. His body had no understanding of his mind’s preference for avoiding Lara. His body warmed to the idea with gusto. His body clamoured to be near her, to smell her unique perfume, to feast on the sight of her body, hear her voice, earn a precious and rare smile. His mind, on the other hand, knew this was a crazy one-sided infatuation with about the same chance of success as his dear old ninety four year old grandmother had of becoming an astronaut.
It would be almost impossible to visit Brooke without seeing Lara but he could keep the contact to a minimum by speaking to Brooke alone. That would work. He leapt to his feet, causing the computer chair to shoot back and crash into Rob’s desk and Marie to exclaim, ‘What the...?’
‘Sorry. Chair slipped.’
She gave him a doubtful look as he left the squad room but said nothing, but then, she had her own worries. Weird how some women popped out babies easy as you please while others couldn’t and would give almost anything to have one. Lara clearly hadn’t had trouble conceiving, which given her abusive marriage was probably a blessing. A man like that wouldn’t accept his sperm weren’t up to the job. It would be his wife’s fault.
Lara. All roads in his mind led to Lara. All the neural pathways had been reconfigured the day he laid eyes on her. Might as well accept it.
Chapter 8
Lara went to the door knowing it would be Nick standing on the porch. She knew the sharp rap of his knuckles on the frosted glass panel. She snatched in a last deep breath, schooled her face into a polite non-expression. His mouth sat in a stern almost forbidding line, the eyes guarded and distant. He didn’t smile, neither did she.
She stepped back and gestured he should come in. ‘Hello.’
‘Hello. Is Brooke here?’
‘She’s in the garden.’ Lara led the way through the house to the back door, heart thumping with a mixture of disappointment and nervous energy. Tension radiated from him in waves. She wanted to ask him what his problem was but he’d say there wasn’t one, and even by asking she was indicating she thought there was something between them that he thought wasn’t there. Nothing could ever develop. He knew that and so did she, for all sorts of reasons.
Petey had accepted their visitor now and sat with Brooke on a blanket under the shade of a big old broad-leafed tree hanging over the fence from next door. She was reading him a story and their laughter floated in the warm air as they looked at the pictures.
‘The police are here. I’ll take Petey inside,’ Lara said as she approached.
Brooke and Petey looked up. Both children. Both innocent. Both needing her care and protection.
‘Hello, Detective.’ Brooke scrambled to her feet, wincing as she strained the bruised torso.
‘How are you, Brooke?’ His tone softened. He extended a hand to steady her and she smiled and accepted his touch which was a good sign. Hadn’t developed an aversion to men — but then she couldn’t remember the attack. As Ellie said, it was a form of self-defence; allowing her body to recover before her conscious mind was hit with the rest of the trauma.
‘Much better, thanks. Lara and her neighbour collected me this morning. They’re so kind. And I adore Petey already.’ She looked down at him.
Lara put out her hand. ‘Come on, sweetheart. Let’s go inside.’
‘Don’t want to go inside.’ The little face glowered. ‘I want to finish the tory.’
‘I need to talk to Brooke, matey,’ said Nick.
‘We’ll finish the story later,’ Brooke said.
‘No! I want to finish it now!’
‘Come on.’ Lara bent and scooped him onto her hip. He was heavy and he didn’t want to be picked up. He let fly with a yell of outrage which she ignored as she stomped towards the house with her wriggling screaming burden of embarrassment. ‘Stop it!’ she hissed. ‘Stop it right now.’
‘I don’t want to go inside.’ Petey arched his back and flailed his arms about. One little fist connected with her lip.
Lara put him down at the back steps and virtually dragged him indoors. She closed the door to muffle the screams. Her lip throbbed and tears of angry humiliation filled her eyes.
‘Don’t hit Mummy!’ she snapped. ‘Into your room with you to calm down.’
‘Noooooooo,’ he shrieked. ‘I don’t want to go in there.’
‘You can stay until you calm down.’ Lara closed the door to his room with trembling hands. Tantrums like this were few and far between fortunately, but boy, was this perfect timing. All the childrearing books said toddlers can be counted upon to produce the goods at the most excruciating moment. And she’d just been boasting to Ellie that Petey didn’t throw tantrums. She touched fingers carefully against her stinging mouth and went to the bathroom to examine the damage. A red mark, slightly swollen lower lip giving her a pout. No blood. Nothing much compared to the fist of his father. Please don’t let this be an indication of his genetic inheritance.
No! That was a ridiculous idea. Petey was two and a half. This hurt out of all proportion because it came from her darling baby who hadn’t meant to hit her and up till now had never done anything other than cuddle and deliver smoochy kisses. Plus she had an audience — Nick, watching with quietly judgemental eyes. She soaked a face washer in cold water and held it against her eyes and then her mouth. When she emerged Petey was quieter but a few strangled, hiccupy sobs emerged from behind the closed door. She’d leave him in there a minute or two longer then fetch him out.
What on earth would Brooke and Nick think of that miserable display of parenting skills? Lara opened the fridge and poured herself a glass of apple juice. The chilled liquid trailed down her throat, cooling the internal heat and steadying her. She leaned against the sink with her back to the window so as not to be spying on the pair under the shade tree.
Nick had looked at Brooke with a gentleness Lara recognised.
He was one of the few people in her life who’d ever looked at her that way. He’d worn the same expression when he thought she was an upset suburban housewife witness who needed her husband for support. Not today though, today he’d reverted to type which made it easier to treat him the way she’d grown up learning police should be treated. Today he’d shown her any personal feeling between them was purely in her own head.
Take a step back. Be polite. Deal with him on a professional basis only. No more invitations to dinner, spontaneous or otherwise. She must have been temporarily insane the other evening.
Lara went to liberate Petey. He lay sprawled on the floor, his face blotchy and red from tears. When he saw her he scrambled to his feet. ‘Can I come out of my woom now?’
‘Yes. But I don’t want any more of those tantrums. And you’re never to hit anyone.’
‘I won’t.’ He held out his arms for a hug which she gave willingly.
‘Like some apple juice?’
‘Yes, pease.’
She sat him at the table with his mug of juice. ‘Can Booke and Nick have juice too?’
‘If they’d like some.’
He slid off the chair and headed for the door.
‘Don’t disturb them, Petey. Ask when they finish talking.’
He stopped and came back to the table. ‘Can Booke read my tory?’ Big brown eyes opened wide with anxiety. The stint in his bedroom must have alarmed him as much as the tantrum alarmed her. Best behaviour now.
‘Of course. She said she’ll read it later.’ She sat down and pulled him close.
‘Why is she called Booke?’ He leaned on her knee bending forward to swing his legs off the floor and down again.
‘Her parents chose her name.’
‘Why am I called Petey?’
‘Your proper name is Peter but I call you Petey because I love you.’
‘Why?’
‘You’re my special boy.’ He stopped swinging and climbed onto the other chair.
‘Can I have a sister?’
‘A sister? Why do you want a sister?’
‘In my tory the boy has a sister.’
‘One day maybe but not for a long while.’ If ever. The chances of finding and trusting another man to the point where she would bear his child were minimal.
Evidence of Love Page 9