Читать книгу Operation Paradise - Sarah Evans - Страница 8

Consciousness returned and I realised I was flat on my back on the floor.

`It's your mum,' said a young girl's voice. It was hushed, with a hard edge of panic, and came from somewhere to the right of my shoulder. As lightning strobes decorated the inside of my eyelids, I reckoned someone had a torch trained on me and was checking me over for vital signs.

`Have you killed her?' asked another girl, this time to my left.

`No.' I recognised that voice. Chastity. She sounded confident and assured. `I didn't hit her hard enough to kill.'

It was her who'd decked me? Where had she learned a self-defence tactic like that? Heavens, I should have paid more attention to her new curriculum. I wasn't ready to confess my conscious state. I stayed still, eyes closed, letting the throb of pain buy me time.

`Shall we get Sister Immaculata?' asked the first girl. I thought it could have been Angie Dellaporte, Chastity's roommate.

`Not yet. Let's see if we can bring her round,' Chastity said. `Mum? Mum? Can you hear me?' She shook my shoulder, hard.

`What's going on here?'

This new voice was all authoritative - and male. I could feel my insides tingle just at the sound of him. Fox had joined the proceedings. Excellent.

Someone clicked on the corridor light and Fox must have seen me in all my glory. Legs askew, rucked hem, possibly a pool of blood under my head and dribble of saliva on my chin.

`DI Rock! Eve! What have you done to her?' His roar of outrage was nice. I can't remember the last time someone on the force actually cared if I got hurt or not. He must have crouched down next to me because I was suddenly breathing in the scent of his apple shampoo. The next moment his hands were on my head, gently searching for wounds.

`I hit her. I thought she was an intruder,' said my daughter with self-righteousness indignation. I'd swear she could make murder sound justified. It's a skill she's honed over her sixteen short years.

`Ouch!' I said as Fox found a bump the size of a walnut at the back of my skull.

`Sorry, Eve.' His hands dropped. One landed on my bare leg where my little black number had ridden up even further with the action. He rhythmically rubbed his palm backwards and forwards.

Ooh, ooh. Now it wasn't just my insides tingling.

`You're awake!' said Chastity, cutting through my sudden fog of lust. `Thank goodness.'

`No thanks to you. What in heavens name did you hit me with?'

`My hockey stick. Sorry Mum.'

`Do you hit everyone who happens to pass by?' I was still prone, preferring the steady hardness of the floor to the erratic spinning of my head.

`Only when I think they're up to no good,' she declared. `Why were you skulking around the dormitories in the middle of the night?'

`I was coming to check on you.'

`I'm not a baby any more.' There was that indignant tone again.

`I never said you were. But I wanted to make sure you got home safely.'

`What do you mean?' She sounded suspicious.

`I saw you at the Paradise Nightclub.'

`Oh pur-leese!' she laughed. It was too high pitched to be reassuring. `As if I would break curfew and go out on the razz.'

Hell, she was my daughter. It was more than possible. And not only could I smell apples, but I could detect hair gel and the flowery perfume Chastity uses on special occasions.

`You were there,' I said flatly, brooking no argument.

`Mum!' she protested.

`I don't want you setting foot in that hell-hole again.'

`I wasn't there.'

`Chastity, don't lie to me. I know it was you. Don't you realise women are being abducted from that club? Do not go there again. I forbid it.'

The girls were all wide-eyed, silent. You could've heard a flea sneeze.

`I didn't want to scare you,' I said. `But I do want you to be safe. I'll talk to Sister Immaculata in the morning.'

Again, static silence. I had the feeling secret messages were being conveyed but I wasn't in a fit state to intercept and interpret them. I just wanted to go home, put an ice pack on my bump and sleep. I tried to sit up which caused everything to whiz around faster than the final spin cycle of my washing machine.

Fox and Chastity both shot forward and tried to support me with their arms around my shoulders. Chastity knocked his hand away and gave him a ferocious glare. Fox backed off all of six inches, glaring back. There was a certain similarity about their bulldog expressions and intensity that would have been funny in other circumstances.

Foxy helped me to my feet. I swayed and he put his arm around my waist. I swayed a little more, just to indulge myself, and he tightened his arm in a very satisfactory manner. Chastity was staring at us, still resembling an outraged baby owl.

`Go to bed,' I said to her. `We'll discuss this in the morning.'

`Are you going to be okay with him?' she asked disparagingly. `Or shall I come home in case there are… complications?'

`I'm a big girl. I can handle myself,' I said, stung.

`I meant concussion.'

Oh. `I knew that.'

This won a reluctant smile from her. `Oh Mum, you're terrible.'

`Don't worry, I'll take care of her,' said Fox. `She'll come to no harm with me.'

Shame.

Then I encountered his bland stare and glimmer of a grin. More shameful than shame. And I grinned back.

`Make sure she doesn't,' said Chastity, intercepting his look. `Or I'll be hitting you with my hockey stick next time!'

It was time to go before the two babes got into fisticuffs over me. I kissed Chastity goodnight and allowed Fox to lead me back to the car. In a few minutes we were parked outside my place.

`Do you want me to come in?' asked Fox. He stared straight out in front. There was no real telling if he wanted to come in or not. I fought down a silent sigh.

`No.' I said it with reluctance. I was feeling sooky and my resistance to a foxy Fox would be too low. I didn't want to take the risk that lust would impair my judgement. `I'll be fine.'

He then swivelled in his seat and faced me.

`I don't mind,' he said. `I'll gladly… tuck you in bed.'

Which made me feel much happier. But I declined all the same.

The next morning I slept through my alarm. It didn't matter. I was on late shift as it was my turn to watch the Paradise Nightclub. Apart from that, the day stretched out before me. The only date I had was with Sister Immaculata and, as she didn't know I was coming, I could see her whenever I wanted.

My head was tender, but I could live with it. So what to do first? I could wash the clothes, do some housework or, if really keen, tackle the garden. And of course, there was always the renovating.

I lived in the leafy suburb of Subiaco. My house was an old weatherboard with pressed tin ceilings, fancy mouldings and a pitted history of white ants. The stumps were sinking, causing the house to slump in a similar manner to my backside and boobs. Both the house and I could do with a complete overhaul. The house was probably easier to fix; at least that didn't require bucket-loads of self-discipline, and I could employ others to do the dirty work.

It was the first home I'd ever bought and I was still trying to get a hang of actually owning a place. There were responsibilities, right? Can't just blast the landlord and complain of dripping taps, blocked drains and rusting gutters and get them fixed for you. Oh no. It's down to moi and I didn't have the foggiest.

I'd bought the house privately a couple of months ago. A work colleague's elderly mum had died and the family wanted a quick sale. The old girl had lived in the house since the war and it had the relics to prove it. The toilet was at the far end of a spartan garden. There was a separate laundry with a concrete trough. And the kitchen was an enclosed back veranda without insulation or hot running water. The shower was the only exception. It had an electric unit for instant hot water, but the water pressure was lousy and I'd promised myself a new system as soon as I had some spare cash. Unfortunately, that didn't look like any time soon.

Okay, so the house was basic, but so were my needs. Most times, I only needed a place to sleep. Food was often eaten on the run and my work took up the majority of my waking moments.

Chastity was itching to decorate her room. She had the colours already picked out. They were all shades of pink with metallic silver for a bit of relief. I was hoping she'd change her mind before the summer holidays when she intended to attack it with a paintbrush. But I might have been wishing on a star. There were only a couple of weeks until holiday crunch time.

But today I didn't fancy doing anything too domestic - did I ever? I took a trip down to the bottom of the garden for a pee and then went back to bed and slept until lunchtime. By then it was too hot to remain in bed. The sheets were no longer inviting but sticky winding cloths that stifled.

I put on a load of washing, fixed myself a piece of toast and read the paper. When the washing was done, I slung it on the old Hills Hoist. I winced as the clothes caught on the rusty line. Not for the first time I vowed that the ancient contraption had to go. It left horrible orange marks on all my clothes, which looked hideous. It went on the ever-increasing to-do list. I then got dressed in my usual jeans, t-shirt and jacket, and headed off for Saint Immaculata's.

Oh joy. The Iron Nun was waiting for me.

`I've been expecting you all morning,' she said.

`Really?'

I was impressed. Chastity must have come clean about the previous night's escapade.

`I don't want my daughter frequenting nightclubs,' I said, going straight into attack mode. `She's too young and too vulnerable.'

Except when armed with a hockey stick.

`It's all under control,' said Sister Immaculata. `Don't worry yourself. Concentrate on real crime and leave Chastity's discipline to me.'

Sounded good in theory but I had the feeling I was being conned.

`You do understand why I'm so anxious? Those young women I told you about, the former Immaculata girls who've been abducted, they were taken from the Paradise Nightclub. I don't want Chastity or her friends going there in case they get hurt.'

`Don't fret so much, Eve.'

`You're being totally irresponsible allowing them to go out to nightclubs!' My voice rose in frustration. `I don't want Chastity becoming a victim.'

`I think you're the victim here. You worry too much. Your view of society is so hopeless.'

`Oh really! I'm the one out of touch with no street sense? I don't think so.'

`You lack faith,' she said gently.

`This isn't about religion.'

`Those young women will turn up.'

I gritted my teeth and counted to ten, but too fast to defuse the surge of anger.

`Yes, they'll probably turn up, but in what state? Alive or dead? I admire your laissez-faire attitude, Mum. Unfortunately I don't have the luxury of a cloistered, sheltered life. I know what scum are out there and what they can do to their victims.'

`Have faith, my child.'

At that moment, I envied her. It was a thin, pure shaft that penetrated to the very core of my soul.

She had faith. Simple. Effective. Empowering.

I'd battled it, and for it, all my life. Faith to me was always just out of reach, a will-o-wisp defying capture but it tempted me all the same. But I couldn't embrace it. I had to have hard facts and proof. I needed evidence.

Sister Immaculata sat there, a fine example of a Chaucerian nun with her sinful, colourful background, and announced once again, with concrete authority, that those girls would reappear.

`I know they will, Eve,' she said. `Trust me.'

Hah! I'd be crazy to trust anything she said. And our discussion was getting nowhere. I sighed deeply, feeling depressed and defeated as well as frustrated.

`I've got to go, Mum. I've got a job to do. Look after Chastity. Keep her safe.'

My next stop was the bottle shop. I bought a few essentials, like red wine to unwind and brandy for pre-menstrual days. I should also have gone to the supermarket for food staples, but I decided to leave that treat for another day. I returned home and packed the bottles away in my sparse pantry. I then headed off to the surveillance pit to watch the Paradise Nightclub.

It was one doozy way to spend a Friday night, but at least there might be some arrestable action, which was more than I would get at home sitting in front of the television, draining a bottle of red and smoking too many cigars.

The stakeout hole was festering nicely. There were a few more empty pizza boxes, chicken takeaway containers and scrunched up milkshake cartons. Carbs and cholesterol were well catered for in this dump.

Burton and Ely were already there. Burton was watching the street through the binoculars.

`Are you going in there tonight, boss?' asked Ely.

`No. I'll watch from here. I sunk enough orange juice last night to OD on vitamin C,' I said. `I don't think my digestive system can take too much of that junk.'

`I'll deal you in, then,' said Ely shuffling a pack of cards.

We did a few hands, gambling for matches, before Burton motioned me over. I squinted through the lens and spotted Anne and Ken Fellows, Bobbie's parents, outside the club. They were walking up and down the pavement, handing out sheets of paper. I guessed those sheets were posters sporting Bobbie's photograph and appealing for witnesses of Bobbie's abduction to come forward.

Even from this distance, their anguish was palpable. The droop of their shoulders and desperate appeals to passers-by gave them away. I wished I could go down there and say something that would ease their grief, but I would be grappling to find the right words.

The other three families had also placed posters and adverts around the western suburbs. They'd made public appeals on television and been interviewed by the media circus. Mind you, they had fallen silent on the whole deal. There hadn't been a peep out of them for a good two weeks.

I had interviewed Anne and Ken Fellows but I hadn't talked to the other three sets of parents. Sodbury had done that before I'd joined the investigative team. I wondered if I should go and see them.We weren't getting very far anyway, so it'd be worth a shot.

The Fellows couple remained outside the club until midnight before the bouncers and then Zefferelli himself asked them to move on. They gave him a poster. He appeared to thank them and then scrunched it into a ball and dropped it on the pavement as he returned inside to his Paradise pit. That man was all heart.

My shift was over by three a.m. The club cleared out and the pavements were free of punters. I was on again at eight. I went home for some brief shuteye but was too wired from gallons of caffeine and double-cheese burgers. I hooked out a bottle of wine from the fridge and turned on the television. It was a big mistake. I finished the wine and ended up sleeping on the couch, unwashed, fully clothed and totally unfit to start the new day.