Читать книгу The Dragon's Skin - Ross Gray - Страница 11

‘Nobody knew, y’know,’ he said. ‘Around here I mean. Not until after he died. We knew about the old lady before him. I mean he died first. But we discovered the old girl before we found out he was dead.’

She knew by the change in the timbre of his last words that he had turned to look at her again. She felt his gaze slide down her profile and come to rest at her lips. He kept looking at her lips, directed most of his conversation to her lips. He took an interest in her breasts and legs too – and probably her bum, but she didn’t have eyes located to confirm that. He was curious about her body below the chin, but only the barest hint of its outlines was available for scrutiny. It was swaddled like an Eskimo’s in January. So he ogled her lips.

It was so bloody cold here. She’d endured nights in the desert which were colder, but it was cold and wet here. It didn’t simply feel cold, it looked cold. It was all in the mind and she knew it. And she hadn’t had time to acclimatise. Most of her days since touchdown at Tullamarine had been spent in air-conditioned, over-heated boxes – workplace and homebase. Even now she was in an air-conditioned over-heated box. She could open her coat or remove it, but she didn’t want to provide him with his eye candy. She looked out the window.

The countryside rippled by with the gentle green undulations of a washed-out quilt. It bled away to where the low grey cloud seeped into it and earth and sky melded in a pearly wash. Dark trees, aqueous smudges and dobs, marked its sodden fabric in dribbled rows or spots and spatters. Every now and then the hard edge of man-made things pressed forward as if against moist tissue. It looked bleak. It looked beautiful. It looked bloody cold.

‘No one around here knew what he did. I mean, they still don’t know. You know – the public. Well, not even we knew then. The local cops, I mean.’

He said ‘I mean’ a lot.

Ahead where land approached sea, a darker stain spread from the muddied hem of the damp grey skirt of sky. It was the first pale hint of the low ranges that sat like a mountainous dyke between ocean and plain.

‘Otways,’ he said, nodding. ‘Thin broth down here, it’ll be pea soup up there. And probably like a drive through a car wash.’

The topography began to bunch and wrinkle. The road began to dip and weave. Drizzly diaphanous curtains billowed in their path. The abrupt arms of the wipers swept them aside.

‘I was wet behind the ears. It was my first station.’ He paused and looked at her again. She looked at him this time. She knew what was coming next. She wanted eye contact to field this question. His eyes dropped to her lips. ‘You’re pretty young,’ he said. ‘I mean, you look young. How long’ve you been out – I mean in – the job that is?’

‘Four years,’ she said. And gave him her emerald-cut gaze. His eyes swivelled back to the road.

‘Jeezus. Musta done something to please the boss, eh?’ he said. ‘To earn this, I mean.’ To his credit, his ears burned bright red when he realised the implication in his words. It shut him up for a while.

‘Suppose you went to uni?’ he asked eventually. He was ferreting for why she was one of the chosen.

‘Yes,’ she said.

‘I just left high school and went straight to the academy. Well, I mean, buggered around for a coupla years in between. Aren’cha hot in that jacket?’

‘I’m fine.’

‘Met my wife down here. Farmer’s daughter. Married. Went back to Melbourne. Didn’t like it. Came back here. Didn’t like it. Didn’t like the marriage, turns out. I mean, we’re divorced now.’

I’m available, I mean.

‘Used to go huntin’ with him. In the shooters’ club. Fuck he cou … I mean, shit he could shoot. Moving targets, stationary: didn’t matter. Well, I mean, bloody obvious when you think about it – in retrospect I mean. Considering what his real job was. Locals used to wonder how he kept the farm viable. I mean, it wasn’t real productive. Probably still wonderin’. Locals. I mean, I know how – now.’

I bet most of the locals do too, she thought. Make a great little copper’s story to pull the chicks on a Saturday night.

‘What was he like?’

‘Nice bloke – you know. I mean, quiet. Kept to himself. But – have a pot or two with the boys. Didn’t drink much, though. In the CFA. Didn’t go to many social functions. Polite to women. Couple of local girls trailed their hooks. But he didn’t bite. Didn’t seem to have much to do with girls. Not around here, I mean. Used to go up to the city now an’ then. Of course, I mean, we know why now. Most people, then I mean, thought he had a skirt up there. There was a bit of speculation he might be gay, of course. None of the women’d have that.’ They drove a way in the hum of the heater. Then he added, ‘Well, I mean, what would you think? The way he took care of his mum. Everyone thought he was a nice bloke. Couldn’t fault ’im. Women thought the sun shone outta his … I mean, took your life in your hands, say something against him in earshot of some sheilas around here.’

‘She was an invalid? His mother?’

‘Yeah. Well that was it, wasn’t it? I mean, be alive today, if she wasn’t. He went off to Melbourne, didn’t tell anyone. Expected to be back the next day, prob’ly. Maybe that night. Often didn’t bother anyone if he was only gone a day. Course, he didn’t come home. Poor old bird starved to death up there before anyone found her.’

‘How come it took so long? They’d need a relative to confirm identity.’

‘Dunno,’ he shrugged. ‘He used his father’s name – in his … city business, I mean. Known by his mum’s name round here. I mean, she went back to hers when his dad shot through. Well, we know now he didn’t shoot through. I mean, he didn’t get far if he tried. And he sort of insulated her. Silent number here. Mobile phone for Melbourne. Two postal addresses. And probably a whole lot of other stuff, I mean, stuff they wouldn’t tell a bush constable.’

‘But he was known to Homicide?’

He chuckled. ‘Yeah. The Murder Club knew him. They could look but couldn’t touch. Never arrested s’far’s I know. Interviewed a coupla times apparently. No material evidence. No witnesses. A bit of a legend though – ’mongst career crims, I mean.’

‘Do you think the mother had a clue?’

He shrugged. ‘Your guess is as good as mine.’

They were winding upward now. Tall eucalypts climbed hillsides showing knobby ankles beneath the petticoats of cloud, and waded knee deep through wet, smoking ferns down into the gullies. He was concentrating on the road. But he still managed to flick a glance her way.

‘So, you went to uni and, you’re – you know – I mean, I hope you don’t mind me saying this, but, you’re a bit of a looker.’ Here it comes, she thought. ‘I mean, why’d you become a cop? You coulda been a model, or on Neighbours or something.’

‘Too fat, couldn’t act. My dream was to be an administrative assistant, but I couldn’t type,’ she said.

His ears pinked and his eyes slid towards her again. ‘Yeah. ’S okay, you don’t have to tell me,’ he said amiably.

She felt a twinge of guilt. He was a nice enough bloke, just trying to make conversation – and, just incidentally, her. She wondered why she was acting like a cold fish: possibly because she felt like a cold fish. ‘It was you that found her?’ she asked by way of amends.

‘I’m at Colac now. I manned the Forrest station then. Bob, my boss I mean, the senior constable, married, lived at Apollo Bay. I got most of the night shifts. Wally Coutts, a neighbour, ’cross the valley from them, got woken by a dogfight. I mean, one of their dogs had tried to pinch his dogs’ tucker. This was a bit odd. He, I mean Des, looked after his dogs real well. Then Wally realised he couldn’t recall seeing any lights from the house for a few nights. Myra, Wal’s wife I mean, she said she hadn’t been asked to look in on the old lady. So Wal went over, couldn’t raise anybody, rang me. Could smell her soon’s I got the door open.’

‘I know she couldn’t walk, but was she so feeble she couldn’t drag herself to the phone?’

‘Phone by the bed. She’d dragged herself to the kitchen. She was lying with her head against the pantry door. I mean, when I found her.’

‘Was the door open?’

‘Locked.’

‘Locked?’

‘Yeah. Fridge, freezer, I mean everything edible, in there.’

‘Why lock a pantry? Did the old lady have an eating disorder or something?’

‘Nah,’ he said and there was something sly in the smile he flipped across. ‘Guess.’

‘That’s where he kept his ill-gotten gains.’

The smooth motion of the car gave a little hiccup. ‘How the f— I mean, you saw that in the files.’

‘No, I haven’t read the file on his death. The case I’m reviewing, he’s more likely for the villain than the victim.’

He gave her a doubtful glance. ‘Then what are you doin’ down here?’

‘Had a break in classes and I thought I’d kill two birds with one stone. Tourism and research. See the sights, absorb some background colour.’

‘See the Apostles?’

‘Thought I’d go back along the Ocean Road.’

‘And – at Detective Training School I mean – they give you these old cases to, what, study? Like, for assignments?’

‘They usually give us classic, text-book case studies as models. But one of our lecturers likes to challenge us with unsolved and unproved cases or stuff-ups in investigation. We’re supposed to analyse them and write a critique of procedure and such. We’re not expected to solve the crime, just point to where we think the investigation was flawed or evidence was lacking. We can offer a hypothesis if we want.’

‘You all get the same one? To study, I mean.’

‘No, there’s a selection.’

‘Why’d you pick this one?’

‘They hand them out randomly. I got another case. But some of us were comparing and I recognised a name on this one and was interested. The person who got it originally was happy to swap.’ The person who got it originally was Howard, and he was willing to do anything to increase his chances of getting into her knickers.

‘What, Des’s name?’

‘No. One of the detectives.’

‘It was a Homicide demon that twigged. About the pantry, I mean. Had us pull the whole bloody thing apart. Weren’t real happy – till we saw the loot. I mean took a whole bloody day. But he was so bloody certain. Secret panel an’ all. Sharp boy. Young fella. Then, I mean. Not so young now I guess. Tall, fair hair. Can’t remember the name. Had a theory about the phone too, if I recall.’

She was still young enough to think she was brighter than Day-Glo at times, and old enough to know she wasn’t. But she couldn’t help it; she had to strut her stuff. There were only a limited number of positions available for interstate coppers on courses at the prestigious Victoria Police Detective Training School. Her super had recommended her for one of them. She knew she was chosen on merit, she didn’t need to prove anything to anyone. But she had to show off.

‘She knew.’ Swiftly, before he could expound.

‘What?’ He shot her a look.

‘His mother knew what Des was doing. That’s why she didn’t use the phone. She knew something had gone wrong. Rather die than make things worse for him. No greater love.’

He glanced at her suspiciously. ‘You sure you didn’t read the file?’

‘A bit of speculation like that wouldn’t be in it anyway,’ she pointed out. He conceded. He huffed an appreciative sound.

‘Huh! You’re good. I mean, no wonder your boss picked you. That’s exactly what the Homicide cop reckoned. The blond bloke.’

‘I’ve no doubt he did,’ she said with a small private smile.

He cast her another suspicious glance. ‘Smarter than a pop-up toaster, that one.’

And by extension, me too, she thought smugly.

‘There’s Wally’s place,’ he said suddenly. Something like an embossed impression of a house slipped by through the silvery slick trees. ‘And on a clear day you can see the house over there across the valley. Can’t even make out the valley today. But, I mean, there’s nothing there to see anymore, really.’

‘No worries,’ she said. ‘I’ll just soak up the ambience.’

‘Well, I mean, okay,’ he grinned. ‘If that’s what turns you on.’