A Certain Malice (7 page)

“But you’ve had mull, right?”

“Sure, hasn’t everyone?”

“And if you were given some, you’d like it, right?”

“Well yeah, but I wouldn’t waste my money buying it.” He gave her a puzzled look, then smiled and tapped on the side of her head.“What’s going on in that pretty little head of yours?”

Ruby smiled.

Cam left the station when his phone calls home remained unanswered. Ruby wasn’t in the house and the dog was gone. He guessed the park, but why hadn’t she rung? Was it because she was meeting that boy?

She could still have rung. Something must have happened to her.

From his house he jogged down the rough path to the park and by the time he got there he’d roused himself into a panic; paperwork and Vince were forgotten, the Bell case might never have existed. He came to a halt alongside the wobbly Lion’s Club sign that dedicated the park to the citizens of Glenroyd. As he leaned against its wooden post to catch his breath he gasped in the muddy river smells that wafted up the embankment.

The park sloped down to the drying riverbed, connected to the stunted scrubland on the other side by a metal bridge he always used to think looked like a dinosaur’s backbone. Now it was just an ugly metal bridge. Knotted ropes and swings with tyre seats hung like limp spaghetti in the afternoon air, and squiggles of heat slithered up from the tarmac wicket, making the ground quiver. He squinted through the heat haze. The park was deserted. Except for Ruby and a boy sitting on a bench overlooking the river.

Fleur raced over to jump at his legs. He picked her up and headed towards the bench. Ruby’s hair shone in the sun like corn silk, but the head of her male companion was no more than a spiky silhouette.

Cam clutched the poodle tightly to his chest as he got closer. He stopped a few feet away and cleared his throat. The sound was drowned by Ruby’s raised voice.

“Gramma always said he put his job before us. She said things might be different now, but she’s wrong, his job still comes first. He doesn’t give a shit about me.”

Cam willed himself to take a step forward. “Ruby?” No response; surely she’d heard him?

He stood and watched the kid reach into his pocket for a greasy rag to wipe her cheek. When she moved her head her eyes met Cam’s and with a look of calculated defiance, she turned back to the boy and planted a firm kiss on his lips.

Cam pushed himself into taking another step.

“Hey, Ruby,” he said, “I found Fleur on the road. You’d better keep her on the lead next time.”

The kid jumped to his feet and turned around. His hair was gelled into short dark spikes with bleached tips. It looked like he had a wet echidna on his head.

“Um, Dad, this is Angelo,” Ruby said.

Angelo thrust out a dirty hand. The wrist that disappeared into the overall sleeve was skinny as a girl’s.

“Good to meet you, er, Mr…”

“Sergeant. Sergeant Fraser,” Cam said, tapping at his nametag.

After shaking hands, Angelo wiped his nose on the sleeve of his overalls. Cam could only imagine what those long sleeves might be hiding.

“Watch you don’t hook yourself on that eyebrow ring, son,” he said.

Angelo’s mouth opened like a fish’s.

Ruby clenched her face. “Dad, don’t be so rude!”

“It looks like he’s hooked himself up on it once already.” Cam leaned forward to have a good look at the boy’s eye. It was eggplant purple and swollen to a slit, the holes on each side of the ring a livid pink. “You should have taken that thing out.”

Angelo spoke to Cam’s shoes.“I guess I’d better be getting back to work now.” His gaze travelled up Cam’s leg to the holstered Smith and Wesson. He swallowed so hard his Adam’s apple almost bounced into his mouth.

“Yeah, guess you’d better,” said Cam. But he changed his mind when the boy turned to leave, realising that this would be a good opportunity to find out what kind of a kid his daughter was hanging about with. “Say, I may as well come back to the workshop with you, I’ve been meaning on having a chat with your boss.”

“Wait for me then, I just need to put my shoes on,” Ruby said, scrabbling with her sandals.

“This is police business, love. I’ll see you back at the house.”

Ruby folded her arms and turned down her mouth, but Cam knew he was safe; she wouldn’t risk scaring off a new boyfriend with a temper tantrum now.

They separated at the edge of the park; Ruby headed for home, Cam and Angelo on to the mechanic’s near the centre of town. While they walked Cam attempted to make conversation with the kid. The grunts of response became so irritating he gave up trying.

The double front doors of the mechanic’s were locked. A grimy piece of paper that read
BACK IN THIRTY MINUTES
had been taped above the handle.

“Cliff’s still at lunch.” Angelo stated the obvious. “You’ll have to drop by again later.”

“Oh, that’s OK. You’ll do just as well.” Cam gave him a pleasant smile. “Where’s the other entrance then? Round the side?”

Before Angelo could offer up any form of protest, Cam disappeared down the side alley towards the back of the workshop. He opened the gate and found himself in a high-walled yard that looked to be the final resting-place of anything in Glenroyd ever loosely termed mechanical. Part of an old-fashioned push-mower, a large copper kettle and a set of sheep shears shared space with piles of tyres and mounds of rusting car and truck parts. The four-wheel drive fire unit and a tow truck were parked within easy access of some locked double gates at the end of the yard.

But it was what was standing alongside the tin wall of the workshop that interested Cam the most: a custom-made Harley with studded leather saddlebags and more chrome than a Mack truck.

“Umm, er, Sergeant Fraser. Cliff’s not going to like it that you’re down here in his yard. Shouldn’t you have a search warrant or something?”

“Why? I’m not searching for anything. I’m merely talking to you.” Cam bent over the bike. He ran his hand over the chrome mudguard and made appropriate sounds of appreciation.

“Do you know something about bikes then?” Angelo asked with a glimmer of interest.

“Not really. I used to ride one, that’s all.”

“A bike copper then?”

“No. I just rode for fun.”

“What, a rice burner?” Angelo said with the lip curl of a serious bike enthusiast.

“A Fat Boy.”

Angelo’s good eye lit up a pleasant face that glowed with an intelligence Cam hadn’t noticed earlier.“Cool,” he said.

It always amazed Cam how teenagers could elongate that one word into two or three syllables. He looked back at the bike, caressing the silky paintwork of the fuel tank, then stopped. He glanced at Angelo then back at the blemish under his fingertips. It was a sticker: a triangle with two dots for eyes making it look like a hood. Around the border of the triangle were the words
Made For Whites By Whites
. He had seen stickers like this often enough and they never failed to make his neck prickle. This white supremacist sticker was a clear indication that the machine did not belong to any weekend biker.

Cam straightened up. “Who owns this bike, then?”

“A mate of Cliff ’s.”

“In a club?”

Angelo took a breath. “Maybe.”

“Is Cliff in it?”

“No. He says bikes are death machines. He just works on them sometimes.”

“And you?”

Angelo shrugged.“I like bikes. But I don’t have anything to do with the bikies, they’re a mob of animals.”

“Sensible man, stay right away from them,” he said, jotting the bike’s numberplate in his notebook.

Angelo wiped his forehead with the back of his hand.“Is this all you wanted to talk to me about, bikes?”

“No. I wanted to talk about Sunday’s fire.”

“Yeah. What about it?”

“You got there at about 11.20?”

Angelo nodded and licked his dry lips.

“When you first arrived, what colour was the smoke?”

“Um, the other cop asked Cliff that. Just ask him.”

“But I’m asking you,” Cam said.

Angelo shifted his weight from one foot to the other. Cam moved to one side so the sun shone into Angelo’s face like a spotlight.

“Greyish white I guess,” he said. A bead of sweat trickled down the side of his face.

“Like an ordinary bush fire?”

Angelo shrugged. “I dunno.”

“Of course you know. You’re a fireman, for Christ’s sake. You know full well different fuels make different coloured smoke.”

Angelo took a step back.

Cam softened his voice. “How’d you get the black eye, son?”

“I slipped in the shower.”

Cam folded his arms and stepped forward, his eyes fixed on Angelo’s face. The kid swallowed but this time stood his ground.

The sound of footsteps broke the silence; the boy glanced at the side entrance. The gate creaked and the sun was eclipsed by the shadow of one of the biggest men Cam had ever seen. Angelo seemed a midget beside him. He introduced Cliff Donovan to Cam before scuttling off into the workshop.

The mechanic watched Angelo’s retreat. The thick beard around his mouth moved, suggesting a smile, though there was no evidence of one in his eyes.

“He’s a good kid,” he said, paternally. “It’s hard to find decent apprentices these days, he’s one of the best I’ve had.” He paused. The heat radiated off the tin of the workshop walls, shooting stars of light off the chrome of the Harley.

Cliff saw Cam looking at the bike. “How about coming into the workshop for a coffee? It’s a lot cooler in there.”

Cam declined. “I won’t keep you long, sir. I just wanted to clarify the time you got to the fire.”

“Let me see now,” the big man said. He scratched his bearded chin, making a sound like wire wool on a cooking-pot.“I had a real early start that morning. I like to work on a Sunday, it’s more peaceful, you know?” Cam nodded his agreement and Cliff continued, “I was working on old man Ronnin’s truck from about seven am. He came to check up on it at about 7.30. Angelo turned up for work soon after. His folks need the extra money so I often let him come in on Sunday. Then I had a long phone call from John Campbell, the shire president, about a fishing trip he’s planning.”

Cam had not asked for an alibi, but he seemed to be getting one.

“After that I went to Flo’s diner for smoko, chatted with Flo there for a while and got back here about eleven when I got the fire call. Would have got to the school at about 11.20, like I told Vince.”

Cam wrote in his notebook and they made some small talk. Cam didn’t ask him about the smoke. It was in Vince’s report.

He’d said the smoke was oily black.

“You were spying on me weren’t you?” Ruby said the minute Cam walked through the front door.

She’d opened another of the cartons and was surrounded by books. His mechanical manuals and law books were piled incongruously next to Elizabeth’s leather bound classics, Joe’s
Where’s Wally
stash and her own animal books. Ruby sat in the middle of the piles as if inside a walled fortress.

“No, of course I wasn’t spying on you – you damn well knew I was there. I’d forgotten something. I came home to get it, you weren’t home and as you didn’t ring to say you were going out, I got worried. I don’t care that you have a boyfriend,” he lied. “It’s just that after what happened to Mum and Joe we have to look after each other, keep each other safe and above all tell each other what’s going on.”

She sprang to her feet and twisted her face. “Lock me in prison, you mean! Embarrass me in front of my friends!”

“He seems nice. How long have you known him?”

Ruby stared at him for a moment, trying to read his neutral mask.

“Since we first arrived.” She seemed to be expecting some kind of outburst. When none came, hope brightened her face and sped up her voice.“He has a good job. He’s an apprentice mechanic, but he wants to become a chromer. They’re the guys who put the silver stuff on old-fashioned cars and motorbikes. “

Cam arched his eyebrows. “Really? I’m impressed.”

“Can I see him again, then?”

Cam frowned. “How did he get the black eye?”

“He walked into a door,” Ruby said, innocently. “So?” she added.

“So what?”

“Can I see him again? I’m only asking to be polite, I don’t have to.” She stopped as if she knew that an argument at this stage of the negotiations would do nothing to help her cause.

“I’ll think about it,” Cam said, picking up one of Elizabeth’s books. He sniffed at the leather cover and ran his thumb over the edges of the gold leaf:
Wuthering Heights
, one of her favourites. She must have read it a dozen times and it never failed to make her cry. He could never understand why she kept reading it.

“I ran into an old lady I used to know at the stock feeder’s.” When Ruby didn’t answer he continued. “She needs someone to help out in the shop and was wondering if you could give her a hand this afternoon.”

“Paid?”

“Yes.” He’d already arranged to give Mrs Wilmot the money.

Ruby shrugged. “Maybe.”

That was good enough. “Good. Let’s go do some more unpacking, then I’ll take you over there and introduce you.”

“What about your work?”

Cam paused for a moment, thinking about the conversation he’d overheard in the park. “It’ll keep,” he said.

9

Cam was running late. He’d hoped to catch Toby Bell in his real estate office but was informed by the secretary that after waiting in as long as he could, Bell had left for a Home Open down the road.

The real estate agent didn’t notice Cam pulling up in the police ute. His head was in the boot of his mustard coloured BMW where he was trying to untangle a bunch of Home Open signs. With a start, he jerked himself out of the boot and stuck his hand between his knees, bellowing a blue string of expletives into the quiet suburban street. Cam hurried over to assist, receiving some murmured words of thanks. It was only when they’d finished unpacking the signs that Bell gave him the benefit of a glance. One look at the uniform and he paled, dropped the sign he was holding, missing Cam’s foot by inches.

“Sorry to startle you, sir,” Cam said.

“Jesus Christ, Officer. Tracking me over here is really too bloody much. Don’t you have anything better to do with your time? I thought my lawyer had sorted it all out with those wankers, they have no right to...” He looked at Cam for a moment. A glimmer of an idea crossed his doughy features. “Ah, I know what your game is.” He reached into his back pocket. “Maybe we could come to a mutual understanding - will a fifty keep that annoying little piece of paper in your pocket?”