Black Ice (20 page)

Authors: Leah Giarratano

BOOK: Black Ice

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Thursday 11 April, night

'So, what'd
you
get up to today, Krystal?' Ingrid asked.

Jill glanced over from the stove, where she was helping Jelly make dessert. She pushed his hand away from the saucepan. Again. 'I saw Gabriel,' she answered.

Ingrid blew smoke. She had no problem wearing her pyjamas when she had houseguests. In fact, unless she had to run an errand, Jill had noticed that it was her standard attire. Ingrid sat at her kitchen table, playing solitaire while Mrs Dang watched. Every now and then, Mrs Dang would crow with laughter and slap at the cards, scattering them, bawling out something unintelligible. Ingrid would re-deal patiently, call her neighbour a silly old bat or somesuch, and take another sip from the mug next to her.

'I fucken
told
ya!' said Ingrid. 'I told everyone you were gonna take him back. Didn't I tell you that, Mrs Dang?'

Mrs Dang tried to smack again at the cards; she threw her head back in hysterics when Ingrid blocked her with an arm.

'So when do we get to meet him, Krystal?' asked Ingrid.

'Yeah,' said Jelly. 'Who are we talking about?'

'Gabriel,' said Ingrid. 'Krystal's boyfriend.'

'SHUT UP!' bellowed Jelly.

'What's
your
fucken problem, Jelly?' screeched Ingrid.

This is another thing about this undercover job, thought Jill. It's so bloody loud. It's ten o'clock on a Thursday night, and here I am making honeycomb with an alcoholic, a schizophrenic and a hundred-plus-kilo man with the mind of an eight-year-old.

'Look,' she said to Jelly. 'This is the important step.' She added bi-carb soda to the concoction in the pot. 'You've got to stay alert, Jelly. You've got to tell me when it all starts to bubble up. Reaaaady – look!' The mixture in the saucepan fizzed and seethed; it frothed to the top of the pan faster than she had anticipated. She whipped it from the stove just before it spilled over.

Jelly cavorted madly around the kitchen, causing a mixing bowl to clatter to the ground. 'Honeycomb! Honeycomb!' he shouted.

Jill transferred the caramel-coloured sludge to a tray she'd purchased that morning for this purpose. 'It's got to go in the fridge now,' she said.

'We don't need the fridge!' Jelly held a spoon ready.

She had prepared for this eventuality. 'Okay, okay,' she said. 'But just stand back, Jelly. We can cool it faster, but it won't taste the same.' She grabbed a saucer from Ingrid's cupboard and dolloped a big spoon of honeycomb into the centre. She smeared it across the plate and turned to the freezer, blocking Jelly and his spoon with her body. 'Three minutes,' she said, 'that's all.'

'Oh, come
on
,' said Jelly, jogging from foot to foot.

'What kind of a name is Gabriel, anyway?' asked Ingrid.

'He's an angel,' said Mrs Dang. 'Archangel Gabriel,' she said. 'He watches over all of us. He's a soldier. He came to me last night. He told me he found my cat.' She cupped her hands together and made a rocking motion; tears sprang to her eyes. 'My little baby, my little kitsy, kipsy-cat. Archangel Gabriel will get my cat back from the government.'

'An angel, eh?' said Ingrid. 'I don't know about that. Seems to me that there ain't many angels that go around beating up women.'

Jelly hurled his spoon at a cupboard door. The crack was like a gunshot. 'WHO FUCKING DID IT?' he hollered.

'Jelly! Jelly. It's okay, it's okay. No one hurt anyone,' Jill picked the spoon up and moved to Jelly's side, stretching her arm around his huge shoulders to hold him close. 'Shh,' she said. 'You want to wake the little baby next door? You know he's only been home from the hospital two days.'

Jelly shuffled his feet. 'Sorry,' he said. 'I don't like Archangel Gabriel.'

'That's okay, Jelly,' said Jill. 'What's really important is whether or not you like honeycomb.' The bell sounded on the microwave and Jill pulled out a bowl of melted chocolate. She opened the freezer and pressed her finger into the honeycomb mixture. It was set. Just. She drizzled the liquid chocolate over the plate and handed Jelly his spoon.

'Tell me what you think,' she said.

Friday 12 April, 11 am

Seren made her way through the blood-sloshed gutting hall to her supervisor's office, her tiny camera tucked into her pocket. It was insurance. It's only a matter of time until this guy tries it on, she thought. Or maybe he's just gonna give me some more hell about having yesterday off. She sighed. She was definitely not in the mood for either option today. Marco hadn't said anything to her for the rest of the day, and that was fine by her after the words he
had
said at the supermarket. God, is that really what he thinks of me, she wondered.

She stepped into the office. Zeko sat behind the desk he was entitled to use when on duty. His thinning hair, translucent and moist, was carefully positioned over his bald spot, as though he'd just found a moment to comb it, slick it down.

'Please, have a seat, Seren,' he said.

She sat waiting, her hands in her lap. What would it be this time?

'It's your son,' he said.

When she lurched to her feet her chair toppled backwards and crashed to the floor. 'What?' she said.

'Hey, hey, hey,' said Zeko, waving his hands. 'Your son, he is all right. He's all right, now. Shh. Sit down, sit down.'

Seren slammed hands flat on the desk. 'What's going on?' she said.

'Your son's school called here. There's been some trouble. Your boy's in trouble.'

'What happened?' she demanded. 'Would you just tell me what's happened?'

'They would not tell me. I told them you were working and that I was your good friend, but they would not tell me. They only said he is all right and he has been bad, and would you come to get him.'

Seren thought quickly and turned to leave the room. She'd just grab her things and catch a cab over there.

'Wait, Seren.'

She turned back to Zeko, her brow creased.

'I think you should let me go to get your son,' said Zeko.

'You?' she said.

'I can go and pick him up in my car and bring him back here before the boss notices. You can call the school and tell them I am on my way. I can drive you and your son home when the shift finishes.'

'I don't think so.' She again moved to leave. 'Thanks, anyway,' she said.

'Seren, I think you had better think more carefully about what you do,' he said.

'What are you talking about?' Would he just bloody shut up? She needed to get over there.

'This will be your second day away from work. You cannot afford this. I am your supervisor. I can be your good friend. You don't want there to be a mark on your record.'

'Thanks, Zeko,' she said, meeting his eye. 'But I need to go and get him myself. You'll have to do whatever you think is right about my record.'

He moved around the desk. With his step forward, she took one back.

'I got you a good job here in D Squad, didn't I?' he said. 'I think you owe me a little bit more. I think you should try harder to be friends with me.'

'What do you want?'

'You don't have to be so mean to me. This would be a start.'

'And . . .'

'And I would like to maybe meet with you in here each day, for a progress meeting. I think we should keep up to date with your training, make sure you are settling in with me.'

'What would we do in here?' she said.

'You will like what we do in here, Seren. Very much. All the girls do. They call me the rooster, the cock. I'm going to be reviewing your performance just as I have for every girl here on my team. To work here on my floor all girls must give satisfactory performance to the cock.' He grabbed at his crotch. 'Come a little closer, Seren. I'll show you why you will enjoy our meetings.'

'I can't, Zeko. I have to go. We'll have to talk about this later.'

Zeko angled his head to the side, placed his hands on his hips. 'Yes, Seren,' he said. 'We will have to talk about this later. With that, I agree with you. We can talk about this while you're sucking my balls. Now go and get your stupid bloody brat.'

Friday 12 April, 11 am

Bluesy kind of weather again, lamented Jill, peering through the tiny bathroom window in her unit. Of course, any kind of weather was going to be depressing viewed from here. The cheerless courtyard, surrounded by unit blocks like this one, rarely captured any sunlight; it was as though even the sun wouldn't hang around here if it didn't have to. A queasy-looking tree drooped in a caged garden bed in the middle of the asphalt. Fed on cigarette butts, piss from the drunks and screams in the night, the tree looked to have given up, waiting to die. Jill knew that many of the residents who woke to see it each morning felt the same way.

Autumn blasted frost into Jill's soul at the best of times. Even the glow of a brilliant Maroubra autumn felt poignant, painful, like happy times were on the way out, leaving for good. The problem was that autumn dragged winter along after it. Winter: the anniversary season of being kidnapped as a twelve-year-old. The cold always snapped her memories of being raped and tortured into sharp focus.

Flicking the thoughts away, she decided she'd bling it up today; attempt to simulate cheer where there was none. A pink velour tracksuit and push-up bra should do it. She grinned as she pulled on the pants: spray-on, sitting just below her navel, with a little diamante appliqué of a star stuck on the hip. You
are
a star, Krystal Peters, she told herself, smudging extra kohl around her lashes and maxing out the mascara. It surprised her to be kind of having fun with this. She had never dressed this way in her life, had always been careful to play down her femininity, feeling frightened or aggressive when drawing male attention.

And she rarely wore her blonde locks down from a tight ponytail. Now she bent her head forward and backcombed her hair, teasing it at the crown to give it height. She flicked it back in front of the mirror. Whoops – she smoothed it down a tad. A little less porn queen. She smirked at herself, kind of shocked by the girl who stared back at her. She looked as though she could be in a magazine shoot. She looked like her sister. Like Cassie.

Jill shrugged into her jacket, her smile suddenly gone. It was time to get to work.

She decided that she'd try to get some more dirt on Agassi, Urgill and Nader if she could. Damien could have this first day off. She would let him adjust to his new life a little and then have him report in tomorrow.

She knocked on Ingrid's door, and waited a while. Nothing. Could be too early for her. Before two was pretty much too early for Ingrid.

Jill headed down to the ground, but left the car where it was for the first time since Last had delivered it to her. She'd done pretty well the last few months on foot patrol. You learned a lot when no one was going anywhere in a hurry.

She stopped in at McDonald's and bought a coffee. There was no one of interest in there so she headed over to Orbit.

'Krystal!' Jelly put his head down and ran straight for her. Oh fuck. Ooof.

'Jelly,' she said, winded. 'We've gotta work on your greetings.'

'I told Kasem about the honeycomb. He wants some,' said Jelly.

Kasem? Jill glanced around Jelly's massive shoulder and saw Nader headed in their direction.

'Hey there, little hoodlum,' said Nader, dropping his arm around Jelly's shoulder and facing Jill. Nader and Jelly stood at the same height, with similar shoulder spans, but the similarities ended there. Jelly's body was refrigerator-shaped all over, while Nader appeared to have spent more than a bit of time in the gym.

'Hi, yourself,' she said.

'I heard you're a good cook,' he said.

I heard you just got a new one, Jill thought. 'It's only honeycomb,' she told him. 'With chocolate poured all over it. Lollies. We are talking about Jelly, here.'

He laughed. 'True. You could pour chocolate over snails and Jelly would call you a good cook.'

'But I am a good cook,' she said.

He stepped a little closer. 'Oh, I bet you are, Krystal. Arse-kicker by day; chef by night. I, for one, want to know what other talents you have.'

'We'd be here all night.'

'And who wants to be here all night?' he said. 'I want to get some lunch. Hungry?'

'I'm hungry,' said Jelly.

'I'm shocked,' said Nader.

Jill and Jelly laughed.

'Can I take you two to lunch?' asked Nader.

Jill followed Nader and Jelly out to the car park. Jelly stopped in front of a shiny new-looking sedan, hopping from foot to foot. Jill whistled. Scotty would kill someone to have this car. Well, not literally; unlike, perhaps, the current driver.

So Nader has a Porsche and an HSV, she thought. Both were current models. Business must be booming. Still, he didn't seem to be working too hard today. She climbed into the leather cockpit and strapped herself in for the ride. These cars could give the chasers a run; cops were told to call in the chopper when they were pursuing a vehicle like this.

'We'll go for a ride,' said Kasem. 'Got something to pick up in Bondi. Steak all right with you guys?'

'STEAK!' roared Jelly from the backseat.

With the day steel-grey and the table set way back in the restaurant, Jill and Jelly sat in shadows. Despite this, the atmosphere was relatively cheerful. The busy tables were draped with chequered red cloths, crowded with condiment bottles of every description, and a slim vase in front of Jill's place setting held a single red orchid.

'I wonder where he's gone,' said Jill.

'Don't worry, Krystal,' said Jelly. 'Kasem always does this. He's never gone long. And he said we can order whatever we want.'

That turned out to be rather a lot. Nader appeared through the dimness of the restaurant as Jelly was still speaking to the waitress. Kasem added a porterhouse steak to their list, which included steaks for Jill and Jelly, buttered corn on the cob, mashed potato, fresh bread rolls
and
beer-battered steak fries, tomato bruschetta, rocket and roast pumpkin salad (Jill had to get something green in there), and a shared plate of olives and dips.

'Beer or wine?' Kasem watched Jill.

'Coke,' said Jelly.

'Of course,' said Kasem. 'Krystal?'

'Um, red wine?' she said.

Kasem scanned to the bottom of the wine list, held it up to the waitress, and pointed to the priciest red; he bundled up the menus and handed them up to her. Jill wondered whether Nader had had the wine before, or whether he'd just chosen on price. For some reason, she thought the answer would say a lot about him.

Jill took another look around the room and then faced her dining companions again. She smiled, but her senses were pinpoint-focused. She couldn't afford to relax for a minute. She'd just set up an operation to take this man down, and here they were having lunch. More than ever she had to ensure she kept her worlds apart. Still, this was a great opportunity. She'd gather anything she could when she had this kind of access to a subject. The way he spoke on the phone, people he might interact with, changes in emotion around particular topics, the way he handled frustrations. Some of these behaviours could give her an indication of how high on the totem he might be in a criminal enterprise, while others could be used later in interrogation, as leverage points, should it come to that.

This train of thought reminded her of Gabriel. An expert on body language and kinesic interviewing, she'd learned a lot from him that had contributed to her success over the past few months. She was realising more than ever that although you might not be able to pick the truth from someone's words, you could tell from their actions if they were lying.