Читать книгу Thicker Than Water - Lindy Cameron - Страница 8

"So?" Erin demanded as Kit emerged from the interview room. "What have you found out?"

"About what?" Kit teased, walking by the squad room towards the lift and chocolate cake.

"About whatever it was you were in there to find out about," Erin said seriously.

"Erin honey, this is a two cappuccino story, at least. And I'm not going into any details until we're sitting in some café with the appropriate..."

Bang!

"...ambience," Kit finished.

Seven cops, from three or four crews, working a host of still-to-be-solved murders, raised their heads in a united squad reaction to the slamming of a single door. All eyes, Kit's and Erin's included, were on the detective standing alone and stunned outside Jon Marek's office.

Marek himself paced fro then back to his door, wrenched it open and crowded the much-heavier-built-than-him detective back against the hall wall. "I don't want any more bloody excuses, Harper. Find that sick little creep, ask him the questions again and get us something we can use. If you can't manage that, then I can manage you a transfer out of this squad."

"Right boss. Whatever you say, Marek."

"Like there'd be any other way to do it!" Marek stepped back into his office, picked up a phone book and hurled it at his chair which sent it crashing into the back wall.

Harper glanced at his colleagues, who returned their collective attention to everything else around them, so he headed down the hall in the other direction.

"What's going on?" Erin whispered. "Do you think Jon's okay?'

"No, I don't actually," Kit replied. "Listen Erin, I'm supposed to meet a couple guys you know at Leo's in an hour. Do you want to wait for me there? I think Marek-"

"Go, Kit," Erin insisted.

This time as Kit reached Marek's door, he stepped out and scowled at her. "Now what?"

"We need to talk," she said quietly.

"Not now, O'Malley."

"Yes now, Marek. Please?"

"What about for Christ's sake? Can't you see I'm busy?"

"Can we go in here?" Kit asked, indicating the room behind her which had no windows to the rest of this interior world.

"You do not want to go in there," Marek stated.

"Is there anyone in there?"

"No."

"Then that's exactly where I want us to go." Kit opened the door and all but dragged Marek into the room. She shut them in, but he switched the light on and then crossed his arms defensively over his chest and gave her a look that said, 'well, get on with it then'.

Oh. Actually, on closer examination, Kit realised his was a typical 'how come you never listen to me?' stance, and his expression was more of a 'you asked for it'.

Kit looked around at three cork-boarded walls, covered in the crime scene photos of what could only belong to the Barleycorn Task Force - the homicide investigation into the murderous activities of the person the press had dubbed the Rental Killer, but what those in the know regarded as the serial nightmare of Bubblewrap Man.

"Do you still want to be in here?" Marek asked, coldly.

Kit held on tight to a shallow breath, and walked a horror walk around a pictorial gallery of torture and mutilation beyond description which showed, from every possible angle, the ghastly images of once-were-women - stolen, starved, brutalised and murdered.

Kit looked at the photos, at the victims, not to prove she could and certainly not because she wanted to - the devil himself, the bastard, knew that wasn't so - but because this was what was wrong with her friend.

Day and night, for nearly four months, Jon Marek had been enduring the depravity wrought by this 'barbarian' as he'd called him. And Marek's job on this investigation was not a case of applying work time and professional energy to solving one or two beyond-awful murders. This was a thirty-hour a day offering-up of his mind and psyche to find the killer of two, then three, then... It was now five women who'd been starved, raped, beaten and had their hearts cut out while still, but barely, alive. Five victims, who had then been encased in bubblewrap and left in empty rental houses.

Erin Carmody had been involved in finding victim number three, which was partly how Kit knew as much as she did about this case; and that was way more than the average woman on Melbourne's streets, who knew only that there was a serial killer loose amongst them. They could only surmise, from what the media were allowed to reveal, that this was a killer who worked to no apparent rhyme and with no reasonable pattern, there being nothing similar about the victims - not their age, their hair or eye colour, their job, their marital or financial status, their religion or ethnicity, their car, their gym, their vet. Nothing - except their gender. The random nature of the Rental Killer's choice of victim made him all the more terrifying, because any and every woman in the city was at risk until he was caught.

And each time, since the phone call that led Erin and the police to the body of Susan West in an otherwise empty house in Elwood, Bubblewrap Man had called a different journalist to inform them where, in their neighbourhood, he'd left his latest victim.

Marek sighed deeply and dropped into one of the orange plastic chairs placed at the huge table in the centre of the room. "Get the hell out of here, O'Malley," he advised.

As Kit's attention shifted from the crime scene photos to the multitude of evidence bags that covered the table, she was overwhelmed for the first time in her life by the oppressive, age-old and female-only surge of cowering anxiety spawned by a perceived powerlessness.

Shit! That's an awful feeling, she shuddered. Thank something, however, the already-dissipating flush of nameless panic did not make her feel afraid, or leave a residue of dread.

No. You're not getting me, Kit scowled; feeling righteously angry and fighting mad. All she wanted now, was to draw her broadsword and cut this murdering bastard to pieces.

"O'Malley, please?" Marek's eyes sadly searched hers. "This is no place for..."

Kit squatted down, balancing herself with her hands on his knees. "No place for whom?"

"For anyone."

"Who are you talking to about this?"

Marek harumphed. "No one. The crew - which means no one, I suppose. Oh, except you. I talked to you about it. Remember?"

Kit shook her head. "Marek, that was nearly a month ago. There's been two more since-"

"Tell me about it!"

"No, you have to tell someone; you've gotta get this out of your head, Jonno. Go see the department shrink or de-briefer. There must be one assigned to a case like this, or you'd all," she waved in the direction of the squad room, "be losing it by now."

"Some of the others have been talking to the Doc, but-"

"But what, Marek? You do not have to be tough and totally in-control machismo-man you know. You won't be any good to anyone if you take the denial route to self-destruction."

"You don't get it, Kitty."

"No, you don't get it Marek," Kit interrupted. "I saw a side of you out there a moment ago that I've never seen before and, despite all your previous and thoroughly hideous cases, never thought I would. You have to get this case off your lone and sagging shoulders. Use me if you want. Hell, I've heard, and now seen enough to at least have a clue where your head is."

That's right, O'Malley, she thought. Volunteer for nightmare watch. Like you need any more visions that aren't your own already.

Kit's gaze wandered over the body of evidence gathered on the table: hundreds of bags containing great and small clues and, no doubt, more than a few irrelevancies. There were easily identifiable things like bus tickets, necklaces, feathers and underwear; strange what-on-earth things like little pieces of metal and wire, small bits of green stuff and tiny coloured fibres; and gruesome things like a tooth, hair, and thumb-cuffs with spikes on the inside.

"This is not even the worst of it," Marek said softly. He was standing beside her staring, like she was, at all the evidence that had so far gotten him nowhere.

"Please get some help Jonno," Kit begged, "before it's too late - for you. Or before you lash out and accidentally deck one of your mates out there."

Marek let go a short laugh. "Harper is actually an imbecile."

"That may be, Marek, but he still doesn't deserve the brunt of your bad shit," Kit stressed, realising she'd been fiddling with one of the plastic bags. "What is this?" she asked.

"Don't know Kitty, but put it down; you really don't know where it's been."

That's better, Kit thought, welcoming the return of Marek's gallows-side smirk. "My big question for the day," she smiled, "is why let off steam at poor Harper when you've got up-Chucky in your squad? He is, after all, an unmissable target worth hurling your invective at."

"That's true," Marek smiled. "And if I beat the crap out of him, I won't need the shrink."

Kit gave him a disapproving frown.

"I'll make an appointment this arvo, I promise. Now, will you get out of here?"

"For you, anything." Kit opened the door.

"Do me a favour then? Tell Erin I'm not prone to violent verbal outbursts."

"She knows, Marek."

As Kit waited for Hector to return with his bugs and Enzo to get back from the loo, she glanced around Leo's Spaghetti Bar and wondered how it was that so many people could be just sitting around socialising at only 4.30 on a Friday arvo.

Does everyone in St Kilda get off work early; or is this a secret life for those in the know?

You're here working O'Malley, she reminded herself. Maybe they are too.

"More coffee?" queried the out-of-thin-air waitress, startling Kit quite unnecessarily.

"Ah no, I'll have a Cascade and a foccacia with sundried tomatoes and cheese, please."

"Are your friends coming back?" The waitress began clearing the table of coffee cups.

"She's not," Kit pointed to Erin's now empty chair. "But the other two are."

Kit returned to the deliberation of her next move, or moves - she did have two cases on the go after all - now she was at least satisfied she'd done her best to prevent anything untoward happening to Carrie McDermid, either through naivety or inexperience.

Like that was really any of your business, O'Malley, she thought.

Which was kind of what Erin had muttered when she'd asked the favour of her. Actually, Erin had said, 'why do you care?' - with the emphasis on 'you' not 'care'.

'Someone has to' was a lame reason but apparently good enough for Ms Carmody because, after she'd been filled in on the little Kit knew about the death of Gerry and its consequences so far, Erin called her counterpart on the North Star. She pointed out to 'Barry sweetheart' - in no uncertain terms - that apart from using 'his alleged common sense, he had a duty of care to ensure that his young reporters were properly briefed on the pros and cons of dealing recklessly, or in any way, with Melbourne's biggest crime family - goddamnit!' She rang back a heart-beat later, to say: 'and don't you dare take her off the story to cover your arse'.

Erin had then left Kit and the boys to rush home and prepare a romantic banquet for her 'spunk monkey'; a term of endearment that Kit could not reconcile with Jon Marek no matter how she tried - which admittedly wasn't very hard, because she really didn't want to begin to imagine what it might mean.

Kit spotted Enzo, wending his way back from the gents via cheery chats with several people who apparently knew him and vice versa, then spied Bill and Ben the Feral Feds in situ near the glass dessert cabinet. Enzo hovered behind his government antagonists, while they pretended to be wooden chairs, and then he continued on to another table where he whispered in the ear of a guy who looked like a refugee from a seventies rock musical.

All of which prompted Kit to contemplate the men in her life: first by acknowledging the activity as an alien concept and wondering whether she'd ever done it before; and second by laughing that it wouldn't take long, as there were only three of them. As she rarely saw her crazy brother Michael, or old workmates like Nick, she didn't include them in the tally.

Worth counting, in many more ways than one however, were Enzo McAllister, Jon Marek and Hector Chase - men who had little in common with each other, but for whom Kit would do anything; and, hopefully, vice versa. They were dear friends she'd scored through fate, good fortune, great management or, as she most liked to believe, because they deserved each other. While she often had these thoughts about her women friends, it dawned on her how wonderful it was to also have these three guys on her balance sheet.

A quick calculation told her she'd known Jon Marek for thirteen years now; since she joined the force. He'd been her senior-ranked partner while in uniform, her colleague in the fraud squad when she'd made detective, and then her partner again during her brief stint in homicide before she left the job. The divine Enzo she'd known for only a few months; but Kit recognised valuable treasure when she came across it. And then there was Hector, a juvenile-d she'd once arrested for a bottle shop robbery; but who, even then, had more integrity and maturity than most adults Kit knew. He also had the will, and the sheer grit necessary, to overcome his shitty-life start and make something of himself. He was now twenty-three, a computer game designer, all-round techno-whiz, and Kit's semi-official sidekick.

And now two of her boy friends were about to discuss work with her here at Leo's, while others played. Enzo had found a plausible way for her to check out Gregor Tereshenko in person but, as they couldn't discuss their the job while Erin was still there, Hector had dashed home to pick up his new surveillance toys.

The waitress delivered the beer and food at the same time as Enzo and Hector returned to their seats, whereon they placed their own drink orders and agreed to share Kit's foccacia.

"Given the chance," Enzo confided, "my long-haired friend Dean, at the table behind Snig and Snog over there, will accidentally-on-purpose make a mess all over our spooks."

"Oh shit mate; are they still tailing you?" Hector asked.

"They emerge from their cocoon every other day to remind us how excellent their absence was. But I can't go on like this. I'm thinking about hiring some ruffians to, to ruffie them up."

"Just give the go," Hector laughed. "I'll get some mates to ruffie them good and proper." Kit, who'd been checking out the long-haired guys at all the other tables behind the Feds, patted Enzo's arm and queried, "How can you know so many Dean-things in the one place?"

"Woo," Hector noted. "It'd be good if that question made sense. You been smoking something funny, O'Malley?"

"Don't be silly, Hector." She pointed. "There's a hundred hippies sitting back there."

"Uh-uh," Hector shook his head. "I refuse to look."

Enzo did however; turning back to Kit with an expression that said he'd only just noticed the strangeness of the crowd. "They're Thespians," he said, as if that explained everything.

"They're blokes, Enzo," Kit stated.

"Th, th, thespians Kit, not lespians," Enzo grinned. "They belong to Foreplay, and they're doing a gay Godspell."

"Why?"

"Because they can, darling."

"I am so not going to look," Hector stressed, widening his baby-blues until Kit's now-curious inspection of him, made him put on his uneasy face. "What?" he asked, cautiously.

"Hector. You've had all your hair cut off. And you're all wet."

"Really, O'Malley? And, oh it's pissing down outside."

"Hmm," Kit noted. "Should I assume from that somewhat patronising tone, Hector, that you've been without ponytail for longer than, say, today? And if so, why didn't I notice?"

"I had it cut yesterday, O'Malley, so you're not completely unobservant." Hector ran his ringers back and forth through his brown, now nape-length locks. "Why you didn't notice when I was sitting here earlier though, I don't know; but then why would you?"

"Why wouldn't I?"

"You don't notice things like that."

"Yes I do. I just did."

"She hasn't noticed your tips, I'll wager," Enzo commented.

True. So? Kit thought, admiring the blonde bits now they'd been pointed out to her.

Hector turned to Enzo. "Last week I watched Lillian perform acrobatics in her kitchen to draw O'Malley's attention to her new hairdo. Did she notice the do or the show? No."

"I assure you I noticed," Kit said. "I just didn't comment on her latest variation of the same thing. Unlike my hair, which Mum is partly responsible for, hers always looks good."

"Yours is wonderful, Kit; it has character," Enzo proclaimed.

Kit laughed. "Thank you Enzo, but my hair looks like some mini-yous - as in tiny Scotsmen, not sheep - are flinging Highland-like through it, on speed. Now, do you guys think we could get down to business? Please."

Enzo responded immediately, with an eloquent flourish of his right hand that delivered an envelope into Kit's. She opened it and pulled out two official invitations to...

"Oh no, what on earth is a Metro Blaazt?" she asked.

"You're kidding!" Hector exclaimed, excitedly and with demonstrative wriggling. "It's only the coolest nightclub in Melbourne, O'Malley." He almost snatched the gold-embossed cards from her hand, but decided to lean over the table to ogle them instead. "Oh, mate! These are for the grand opening; they're for then, for that, for..."

"For you, Hector," Kit smiled. "One of them is, anyway; so don't say I never give you anything. I'm not even going to ask how a place yet to be grandly opened, can already be the coolest in town. But Enzo," she groaned, "when you said 'an opening' I thought you meant an art gallery. I hate nightclubs."

"Honeylamb," Enzo shrugged, "these invitations are not unlike hen's teeth. The junior-duke Gregor and his lady-love Vanessa, will be at this Blaazted thing, because come Sunday it will be the place to be. As I've no desire to be within miles of a thing so gauchely straight, I figured you and your sideshoot could trot along there and spy on our star-spangled lovers."

"If they're so rare how did you get them?" Kit queried.

"Comrade Tereshenko himself gave them to me yesterday, when I lunched with him, his paramour, and her Mummy-not-so Dearest."

"I feel like I'm in a daytime soap," Hector said morosely; whereon Kit and Enzo filled him in on their job for Sarah Boyes-Lang.

"Cool," Hector said, turning the invitation over and over to check for extra perks or hidden agendas. "Now, I have something for you, O'Malley. Hold your hand out."

Kit did as she was told and Hector dropped a tiny clear plastic doodad into it. "Oh, that's lovely Hector, but you shouldn't have."

"Stick it in your ear, O'Malley."

"Really? Or is that like an insult?" she asked, putting the logical end of the extra-soft thing in her right ear... "Thank you Enzo, but my hair looks like some mini-yous - as in tiny Scotsmen not sheep..." Kit's own voice said to her.

"Whoa!" she pulled the doodad out of her ear and stuck it in Enzo's. "Where's the mike?"

Hector drummed his fingers on the table. "Is this a ring you see before you?"

"Good god," Enzo said, raising his hand to his auricle.

"No such thing, Lorenzo," Kit sighed. "So where's the tape recorder?"

Hector unclipped a beeper-sized device from his belt and handed it to Kit. "It's a mini-disc not a tape, O'Malley. The mike to recorder range is about fifteen metres, so you can either wear it like this and get in close like I've been; or you can hide the recorder nearby, even outside a window. You place this bit," he pulled a tiny silver device from the centre of his ring to demonstrate, "in the best spot for picking up whatever it is you want.

"It's noise activated and will pick up immediate-vicinity dialogue with ripper clarity. It'll also record voices or sounds for up to a five-metre radius from the mike, as long as there's no ambient noise like music, or too many voices like there are here. As you heard, our chat was crystal clear but we couldn't pick up Spick and Span over there."

"I'm full of amaze," Kit grinned. "And so glad I've got you to find and understand all this stuff for me, Hector. So I don't ever have to. In fact, I'm officially retreating to the O'Malley Investigations Techno Vacuum, coz in this area I have no skills and I fear I'm one step away from future-phobia. Except, of course, that the future is sitting on this table."

Hector squinted at her. "Did someone beam your mind out, O'Malley? You can't be future-phobic, you're an science fiction fan."

"Yeah, in the abstract," Kit agreed. "As in the fi part, not the sci stuff; as in warp speed and transporters, not as in how TVs or mobiles work. And as for this, this spooky stuff of yours - or, you know, electricity..." She pointed at a small leather-cased thing, "Like I thought that, which is huge by comparison, was your new 'little' listening toy."

Hector grinned, unzipped the case and pulled out a sleek silver thing, no bigger than a pack of cards . "This, my Captain, is my new little watching toy. It a digital video camera."

"Okay, that's it. I'm going to live in a cave."

"It's so cute," Enzo laughed. "Ooh, do me a favour and take a picture of Ding and Dong."

"Haven't you done that yet?" Hector asked,

"No. Why would I? I'm the one being investigated."

Hector ran his thumb along one sleek, narrow side, flipped open the world's tiniest screen and placed the camera next to Enzo's glass. Glancing down casually, he adjusted the camera's position slightly as he spoke. "So, O'Malley, we have a date at the Metro Blaazt on Sunday?"

"A date indeed," Kit nodded. "Before that, however..."

"I know," Hector raised his palms, "you want me to trace the Russian's international movements. Man, I feel like the spy who came in from the rain."

"I do want you to do that, yes," Kit agreed, "but I was also wondering if you're doing anything tonight. I mean this evening for an hour, or so."

Hector scratched his head thoughtfully. "I'm meeting a friend for dinner later, but I can do whatever with you until 7.30, as long as it takes no more than half an hour to get home from wherever we're going. Does that help?"

"It's perfect. I need back up when I pay a visit on Queenie Riley."

Enzo raised his hands dramatically and said, "Um?"

"What?" Kit queried.

"What indeed!" Enzo declared. "What have you done with the Kit O'Malley who, just last night, said that checking out the Rileys was something no sensible person would do without a whole force of nice police persons covering their cute little arse?"

"Ah well you see, that was last night before Queenie herself paid a visit to The Terpsichore wishing to talk to Angie about what she'd found. The cops wouldn't let Ma Riley do that but, in order to prevent a repeat visit, I'm going to head trouble off at the corner of Wessex and Vine, by dropping in on the sweet old thing myself. I can answer any questions she has about the finding of the very dead body of her sweet nephew Gerald."

"O'Malley?" Hector said, extra-cheerfully. "I'm sorry, but I believe I've just remembered a prior, earlier, important engagement."