Читать книгу Serpent Song - Toni Grant - Страница 10

“Any news?” Francesca climbed into the over-heated car, smiling at his wayward appearance. Ginger hair stood on end, ruffled by a restless night and dire need for a haircut. His big hands wrapped around the steering wheel. Francesca waited for his reply, studying the sinewy lines that defined his forearms. Some way along, almost at the elbow, the cuffs of his shirt were rolled in a tight bind. His shirt was ironed today.

Johnno insisted on wearing his shirt sleeves in this fashion; rain, hail or shine. It was the western way. Beneath the twisted fibre, she knew his powerful arms linked to muscled shoulders and back, still bruised with ruck marks from the weekend’s rugby friendly.

At his waist, a two-ring plaited belt with an overlap of bonded leather would flap against his hips when he walked. On his feet, a pair of tan elastic-sided boots, polished and supple.

“Nothing much. Sounds like an execution. The boys took a phone call and rang me after they found the body. The caller was quite specific about mentioning Chi You and hung up.”

“Do we know anything at all about the caller?”

“Not yet. But I’ve already asked forensics to analyse the recording.”

Yesterday’s stubble formed a dark shadow around his mouth and jaw, making a sandpaper sound when he rubbed it. Her partner was loud, tall and broad. He had the biggest hands she’d ever seen. Safe hands his mates had said. They meant for the rugby ball but she knew it went a bit further than that.

Johnno loved his mates, sport and girlfriend, in that order, and lived each day to the full. His popularity compounded by a quick wit and equally wicked sense of humour. On the flip side, the Scot could be absolutely ruthless. Francesca loved working with him. She trusted him with her life; and she trusted his judgment more.

“Just get in, did you?” he teased good-naturedly, referring to her fresh appearance at the early hour.

“No!” Francesca tried to sound indignant, smoothing her damp hair. “Couldn’t sleep!” She changed the subject. “Well can’t say I’m surprised to be out on a job tonight. It’s a full moon and you know what they say about full moons.”

For emphasis, she pointed to the large disc slowly disappearing in the early morning light. Francesca babbled on feeling the nervous excitement build at the prospect of a new job. She smiled to herself. This new case was the distraction she craved.

“A floater! Hmmm!” She sobered suddenly. After ten years in the job the sight of death still made her stomach squish unhappily. “Execution style and Chi You. I assume there are no witnesses.”

She turned to face him. Despite the early hour and bleary expressionless face, she knew his mind was already in focus preparing for the day ahead.

Turning sharply off the main thoroughfare to a dimly lit alley, Francesca reassessed her bearings. The first misty whispers of a wintery fog began to drop. At the end of the road, the reflective paint of the marked police car caught their oncoming headlights.

Outside, the dockside location breathed an eerie pre-dawn feeling. An overpowering stench of rotting fish joined with the foamy green water, splashing against the wharf pylons as the tide turned to make its way back out to sea. Its age-old rhythm of coming and going meant that eventually all sins would be revealed. Francesca gagged at the smell. Not a good start, she thought.

As they neared the first police officer Francesca scanned the isolated location. They were directed to follow a tight track skirting around shrubbery at the water’s edge.

At the end, a large boggy clearing opened onto the back of an industrial area.

The detectives stopped at the body which was lying face down in the muddy wash, dressed only in jeans and socks. His bare back was covered in muck and tattoos. Hands tied securely behind with cable ties. A single bullet to the head was the only obvious injury. The wound indicated he had faced his fate. Indeed, it did show all the hallmarks of an execution-style murder.

“What are your first thoughts Francesca?” Johnno asked.

“Well, he’s not bloated, so I guess it’s a pretty recent occurrence. His hair is greasy and blonde. Pale skin showing an array of freckles and moles. Look at the fat distribution around the hips. All of it indicates Caucasian origins. Well, to me anyway. I have come across Chi You members from non-Asian backgrounds before, but it’s very rare. Also I note that his tattoo style is not Asian.”

She wondered about his lack of shoes and belt. His jeans wore the label of a low market brand. Thick socks would show he may have been wearing boots. In fact, she fleetingly thought, the socks reminded her of standard Police issue. As the moon slipped behind the clouds, Francesca reached for her torch and continued her observations of the body.

“Also, scarring typical of Chi You membership is not present.”

She greeted the forensic police with a nod and a tight smile. Johnno turned his attention to the location to take a couple of photographs before facing the body prone in the stinking mud. He focused on the body through his lens, taking the necessary close ups that would help them get started later in the day.

“You’re right to get in a bit closer if you need, Francesca.” Johnno beckoned after a quick conference with the lead forensic police officer.

Leaning close to the body, Francesca’s hands covered her mouth and nose from the foul stench of him as she tried to analyse the tattoos. Symbolic markings might give them some clues to his gang membership or allegiances. Bold tribal markings on his shoulders and upper arms indicated an islander affinity.

In the half light and thick mud, it was difficult to determine the detailing around the upper back, although it resembled the makings of a bird’s claw. For this particular case, Francesca admitted any gang inference from the ink work would require a trip to the morgue once the body had been cleaned.

Stepping away, she turned towards the river bank. The Maglite strobe shone brightly across the muddy embankment. It was foolish to hope for obvious clues. Tracks from a beached boat, perhaps a foot or shoe print. In reality, she needed to distance herself from the body. Nausea built at an alarming rate after the close inspection. She whispered a mantra … breathe in through the nose, out through the mouth, trying to settle her queasy stomach. It would do her credibility no good if she started spewing now.

She shook her head to try and clear the dreadful smell of him from her nostrils, the smell of blood and death. Wondering how long it had been since his last shower, another distinctive smell permeated from his hair. The results of a toxicology report would let her know exactly the mix of drugs he was taking, although she was almost sure it was weed. That meant the body hadn’t been in the water. He was either murdered on this spot or dumped.

The moon hung low, paling in the emerging dawn light. Focusing on the last of it bouncing off the small white crests on the Parramatta River, Francesca shivered. Swirling water made her jumpy and the detective was glad to have the team around this morning. She glanced behind to Johnno, reassuring herself she was not alone. The fog that had threatened earlier was dissipating, withdrawing in a wet mist as the dawn broke across the sky, splitting the dark clouds with yellow colour wash.

She shivered. Someone was watching her. Francesca felt the hairs on her neck prickle in agitation. She checked again in the direction of the boys who were engrossed in their analysis and searched along the river bank beside her before diverting across the water. Here, where the river narrowed, she scanned the row of parked cars facing the bank. A black SUV stood alone facing her. Was she paranoid?

The detective quickly grabbed the mobile from her pocket to take a picture. It was quite a distance. The bright flash issued a warning to the vehicle. Francesca swore.

Hastily she reached for the tiny night vision binoculars attached to her hip and in a partial read wrote the numbers by memory in her notebook. The lights of a garbage truck shone momentarily through the back windshield. The driver’s large head and bulky frame were revealed in the backlight. And he was looking directly at her. He blew her a kiss.

Francesca blinked and shook her head in disbelief. Her immediate reaction was to drop the binoculars to her side.

“Johnno,” she squeaked, turning her head momentarily to alert her partner. Francesca returned focus to the spot across the river. The car had disappeared. She examined the roadway, tracking side to side through the binocular lens along the river bank avenue.

“Francesca,” Johnno said, drawing out her name by syllable. “You’d better look at this.” The detective coughed discreetly. The distinct smell caught in his throat as the body was turned over.

Morning light broke across the sky. The small group of police exchanged looks over the motionless body. Staring plainly for all to see, the numbers two and five scalded the victim. Upon the left pec, sealing his flesh, the burn was similar in size to a cattle branding iron, the type used to determine stock ownership.

“And you’re positive the caller mentioned Chi You?” Francesca spoke first. No triad group she’d ever known had ever claimed a murder.

Johnno nodded as she continued.

“This is really unusual. I mean the whole set of circumstances are odd. Chi You are particularly careful in this area. In fact, this is the last thing I’d expect from them.” She turned to Johnno. “You know how they operate.”

“Yeah,” Johnno agreed.

“Twenty five. It’s the triad number for undercover cops and traitors.” She looked back at the body.

“Well … this message is a warning of some sort,” Johnno concluded after a few silent moments.

Francesca nodded and focused on the tattoos. More specifically on the wings of the eagle that wrapped around his upper shoulders and chest. Its story seemed out of place with the heavy black markings on his back. Was this dead man searching for a new identity by covering up old allegiances?

“You see here,” she said pointing to his torso, “he’s not part of Chi You, not in the traditional sense anyway. There is no evidence of blade work.” After a few moments, she continued, “What do you think about the placement of that brand? It’s centred on his heart. To me that indicates he is a traitor at the centre of something.”

Johnno nodded but it was pure speculation at this point. He spoke after another long silence, “Thanks boys.”

Francesca glanced around at the scene in the morning light, imprinting the whole picture in her memory. For her own records, the detective snapped a couple more location photographs and followed Johnno along the muddy bank back to the car.