On Cringila Hill (3 page)

‘We've all heard the stuff, should they have let him out, would he be going back in,
when
would he be going back in? Everyone's heard all of that. May says, it's his age, so they're not allowed to write his name in the papers but they may as well because everyone down here knows who he is. When
was
this case, I mean the original act? I remember following the trial in the papers but I don't remember when it happened.'

‘Nearly three years ago. A girl called Luz Solomona was raped on the grounds of Warrawong High School.'

‘Ah.'

‘Yes. Ugly. Four of them, most likely. Abdul was the only one ever identified. He was a classmate of Luz, they'd been friends apparently. You were still working at Wollongong and your daughter, had just gone up to university. You and May had headed off for a holiday in your caravan.'

Edna closes her eyes and pinches between her eyebrows. Her hair is dyed blond and has received careful attention but Gordon can see that, beneath her make-up, the skin below her eyes is sagging and dark.

‘She was cutting through Warrawong High School at night, on her way home, I invite you to believe.' Edna spreads her hands, palm up as if to say, how can you protect people who'll do such things? ‘She was attacked, probably by four youths – well, one youth, established, and perhaps three others of indeterminate age.'

‘Who Abdul would not name.'

‘No. There are people who believe that he was deathly afraid of them. Well, them or their families.'

‘Local?'

‘No one knows. She only got a good look at one, Abdul, who she knew, and he was the one attempted intercourse.'

‘Attempted?'

‘This is why we're where we are. This was the thing at the trial – what, in fact, did he do? It couldn't be established just by a medical review, for reasons that were examined in court in ways that the poor girl must have found deeply humiliating. This was the basis of the appeal – what should he have been charged with, was there any real evidence he performed the actual act of which he'd been found guilty?'

‘Ah. And maybe three others.'

‘So Luz thought. Could have been others, off in the dark, but she thought it was three who held her down for Abdul. And four in total was the impression of the neighbours to the school who heard her screaming and, to their credit, climbed the fences and came to help her.'

Rain beats on the office windows. ‘Who worked the first investigation?' Gordon says.

‘Went through a few people. It started off with Mick Laecey.'

‘Mick
Laecey
?'

‘Mmm. He'd just got back from leave, after his daughter had died.'

‘Yes. Beautiful little Julie.'

‘Mmm. He came back, didn't last long. But he was the Cringila specialist, apparently, and he started the investigation after that thing happened to Luz Solomona, whatever in fact it was.'

‘Oh, poor Julie. I don't know how he got through that. It'd have killed me.'

‘Oh. Perhaps. In any case, he never really made it back to work. Just a bit of the Solomona thing, then back on leave, then he was gone.'

‘Ah. And, do you know, I've scarcely seen him since. You know how close we were. Or, are, I'd like to be able to say. After Julie died we'd ring him, you know, and say let's get together, and he'd never say no but it would never quite work out. Then in the end I stopped asking, which is what I thought he wanted. He'd lost his wife earlier, you know.'

‘Yes. I knew that.'

‘Linda. His wife's name was Linda.'

‘Ah.'

‘I'll talk to Michael.'

‘Will you? Are you sure that will do any good, out of your scarce resources of time?'

‘Everything I've learned from another person about policing that was worth a damn I learned from Mick Laecey. And our families were close. Well, more back in Narrandera than when we came here, but, if nothing else, this would be a chance to catch up.'

‘Oh, well. As you think.'

‘Yes. And now.'

David Lawrence looks at Gordon expectantly.

‘I must go and face my wife.'

‘She's cross with you.'

‘Yes. At least I hope it's not worse than that.'

‘Gordon, this is truly very good of you.'

‘Yes,' he says, bitterly. ‘I know.'

His most recent painkiller is already diminishing in impact. Gordon grimaces, levers himself out of the chair and leaves with David Lawrence.

Chapter Three

Jimmy has bought an electric clock so that he can see the time during the night without turning on a light. He doesn't set an alarm because he won't risk disturbing the sleep of his mother. He's woken himself repeatedly through the dark morning hours, checking the clock's illuminated digits. When not awake he dozes lightly so that his dreams are to an extent controllable and don't take him to the disturbing places he reaches in his deep-sleep dreams. No dreams at this time about blood spurting from the head of Abdul Hijazi. No dreams about Jimmy's father. This morning, dozing, he dreams of Luz Solomona.

They walk together, barefoot, holding hands. The cool salt water washes up over their ankles as waves sweep up onto Port Kembla beach. Jimmy looks into Luz's dark eyes, chuckles to himself in his sleep as she makes her funny, perceptive remarks about people they both know. He feels her stroke his cheek, hears her tell him again, ‘You're beautiful, you know, beautiful to look at, not just good-lookin'.'

Jimmy blinks himself awake. The salt of tears stings his eyes and he dabs the wetness away. He's aware of his powerful erection and is determined to ignore it. He checks the clock. Time to go to work.

He's wearing a t-shirt and underpants. He rises, draws on jeans, socks, sneakers, a spray-jacket. He brings a stuffed manila envelope from beneath his pillow, a backpack from underneath his bed.

From the hallway, he can see that there's light in the lounge room, not room lighting but the colours of television transmission that fall through air, spill across furniture and the linoleum covering on the floor. His mother sits on a lounge, watching the images without any audio. Jimmy stands at the doorway, glances at the screen. A family is depicted at Christmas time. On a table are a turkey, vegetables, expensive-looking bon bons. Everyone is well dressed and smiling. A little girl carries a beautifully wrapped gift around the table, to show it to her handsome grandfather.

Jimmy's mother has become aware of his presence and turns to watch him.

‘What's this?' he asks her.

‘Some advertisement,' she answers.

They speak to each other only in English, which is a source of pride to her – the homes of many of their neighbours have no English among adults.

‘What you doin'?' she asks.

‘Advertisement for what?' he asks, so as not to answer the question yet. He goes and sits next to his mother. She is in a nightdress, dressing gown and slippers.

‘Christmas. You pay them every week then comes Christmas they send you a hamper.'

‘Yeah? Maybe a good idea.' Jimmy watches a well-dressed woman smile while her husband carves the turkey at the table, which is something he's never seen a person do in real life, and distribute the meal to people's plates. The television scene is set in a big house with hanging paintings and stylish furniture.

‘The hamper comes at
their
Christmas,' his mother tells him, ‘not at
our
Christmas. Now, my handsome son, why are you up and dressed? What are you doing?'

‘What,' he says, ‘you can't sleep?'

‘Not too well last night.'

‘Bad dreams?'

‘Maybe. You think you not gonna answer me you're wrong.'

‘Going fishin',' he says, and notes to himself he must find a way to buy a couple of bream before he returns. ‘Tide's just right.'

‘Fishing! Who you goin' with? Your grandfather?'

‘Nah.' He lies, knowing it would be too easy for her to check. ‘Couple of the boys. Gonna ride down the hill.'

‘Yeah,' she says. ‘Couple of the boys. The Nameless Ones.' She reaches, grasps his shoulder under one of her strong hands, gives it a little shake. ‘Shoulda said your grandfather,' she says. ‘He'da lied for ya. You gonna get inta trouble, you know. Trouble, one of these days. Maybe then you learn.'

‘Nah. Not gonna get inta no trouble. My beautiful mother never gonna let that happen.' He reaches over to kiss her cheek. On the television there's a close-up of a freshly cut Christmas tree decorated with wrapped presents.

‘Be sure you get back for breakfast. There's mashed potato. Gonna make you potato cakes and bacon, go with your coffee.'

Jimmy reaches for her hand, squeezes it, kisses the dry skin of her forehead.

‘Nearly time I go down the school anyway,' she says, ‘do my shift.'

Jimmy keeps his pushbike leaning up against one of the foundation pillars of the house. His mother has told him ‘Chain it! Lock it! Bring it inside!' but Jimmy's got respect on the street and to appear insecure might put an idea into someone's head. He always leaves the bike in view of all-comers.

Mounting the bike he pedals out of Cringila, down Flagstaff Road, freewheels down Cowper Street, past the hospital, past a church. After the Warrawong shopping centre he rises up off the seat and pumps hard through the hills to reach the Port Kembla CBD.

There's no cloud this morning and dawn is coming so it's grown very cold, but Jimmy's exertion builds up a beading of sweat across his forehead. He's panting by the time he reaches the top of Wentworth Street. He pauses there awhile because he wants to appear relaxed and composed when he enters his meeting. Beneath him the street is empty and still. Shop windows are dark behind their protective sheets of wire mesh. Jimmy checks out the graffiti on the walls to see who's been by, smiles at the filthy assertions made there about the sexual habits of one of the deputy principals of Warrawong High School. In the last of the still night nothing moves – although there's a ship in port even the prostitutes are not on the footpaths because of the cold.

Jimmy pedals the bike into motion, belts down Wentworth Street, sweeps right into an alley, bumps along a laneway between rubbish bins, makes another right. He stops the bike before the roller door of a low cement-brick building. After a time the door shudders, there's a clanking, it jerks up sufficiently to admit him. He wheels his bike into the darkness. The door lowers. Someone switches on an electric light.

He's in a garage, a factory-like space with room for perhaps eight vehicles. The only car on the floor is a very old Volvo sedan. A swarthy young man stands by the door, black hair and straggly beard along the line of his jaw, a thin moustache above his mouth. Not overly tall, he's very broad through the chest and shoulders, though you wouldn't have thought him a body builder. His neck is thick, and so are the links of the gold chain he wears around it. He lowers the roller door and Jimmy leans his bike against a wall, rests a hand on the Volvo's roof.

‘Feizel,' he says. His companion nods.

‘Dimce.'

‘What?'

‘What?'

‘What you call me, Dimce? Name's Jimmy.'

‘Hey, Dimce is what you was called when they christened you in that little church round the corner you people got. Is what I'm gonna call you.'

‘You figure.'

‘Yeah. Is what you was named before your god. Gonna protect your soul.'

‘Protect my soul?'

‘Yeah.'

‘Fine. You call me Dimce. I'm gonna call you Ferdie.'

‘Ferdie.'

‘Yeah, Ferdie. Good version of Feizel.'

The two young men chuckle together.

‘Cos we all Australians now,' Feizel says, and they laugh again.

Jimmy draws the envelope from beneath his shirt, gives it to Feizel, who takes it to the back of the Volvo, opens the boot and throws it in. He brings out a cardboard carton.

Jimmy says, ‘No countin'?'

‘That'll be the day.'

Feizel brings the carton to Jimmy, who pours the sealed clear-plastic sachets into his backpack. Job done they stand together awhile. Feizel says, ‘How's it been?'

‘Where?'

‘On the street. Anything unusual?'

‘Nah. What? No, nothin'.'

‘Yeah? Well, I just heard somethin'.'

‘Heard what?'

‘Heard somethin' about some guys from Wollongong. Italians. Heard they've maybe got some thoughts.'

‘Nah. Nothin'. Not a thing. All the same as usual.'

‘Yeah, well, anything comes up, just give me a call. Keep an eye, you know? Give me a call, anything bothers you.'

Jimmy laughs. ‘What, call on a fat Turk help me handle some Italians from Wollongong?'

‘Anythin' doin', you just call your Uncle Feizel.'

‘I ever need my Uncle Feizel because there's some Italian guys from Wollongong, let me tell you, my good friend, that day I'll be mountin' up the old Palomino, givin' a big wave with my sombrero and ridin' off into the sunset.'

‘I'm just sayin'. You just keep an eye out, give me a call if anythin' bothers you. That true, you usin' that Piggy?'

‘Yeah, I take Piggy along. Watches my back.'

‘
Piggy?
'

‘See, people don't understand about Piggy. Piggy stands up. Somethin' comes up, strikes him a particular way, Piggy can go crazy.'

‘
Piggy
can go crazy?'

‘I'm tellin' you. I get angry. Piggy goes
crazy
. There's a difference. And besides, he works for what I can give him, which ain't much.'

‘Yeah, well …'

‘So, what about Queensland. You goin'?' Jimmy asks.

‘Nah. I'da liketa, in a lotta ways. But you know, my mother, my sisters … I can't leave them at this time. And relocatin' them up there, I mean, no way could we make that work. And, besides, I wasn't really what my cousin needed. He got in touch with me out of trust, you know, but still, I wasn't exactly the thing he needed.'

‘Yeah. What
did
he need?'

‘Fresh face. Someone the coppers didn't know yet. Young person, looks nice, fits in with the people get on the strip up there. It's mainly pills up there, you know? Not what we do, the weed, someone gets home from work, has a smoke on the back verandah, tries to calm down, get the works off of his mind. Up there the kids wanna take pills, dance all night.'

‘Like Wollongong.'

‘Yeah. So I talked to my cousin.'

‘Yeah.'

‘We wondered maybe would you like to go up?'

‘Me? Ah, Feizel, this is where I live.'

‘Yeah. Ah, well. Just askin'.'

‘Got my mother, got friends …'

‘Got your grandfather …'

‘Well, yeah, I do, I got the old man, important to me.'

‘For now.'

‘What?'

‘Just sayin'. None of my business. Still lastin', that feelin' you got, you and old Lupce? Maybe not forever.'

‘What?'

‘Forget it. None of my business. Anyway, up on the Gold Coast, a thousand a week he's payin'.'

‘Shit.'

‘Yeah. Got a flat you could have, coupla streets back from the beach.'

‘What's he doin' with a flat?'

‘It's the money up there, I'm tellin' you, people save their money, get up there, wanna party. So he's got the flat. Bought it a certain way. Wants it occupied, can't put in a tenant in the normal way so it houses who takes the job. Then, build up business, there'd be a share, and we'd have you up there, me down here, plus my cousin, could be useful.'

‘Nah. Forget me. It's good you're not goin', but. I'd need to make new arrangements, might be difficult. But, nah, I'm not leavin' Cringila.'

Their business is finished, but they enjoy each other's company and don't yet want to break up.

Feizel says, ‘you saw Abdul get hit.'

‘What?'

‘I'm just sayin'.'

‘Bullshit! Where you get shit like that?'

‘He was walkin' down off the Hill and someone pulled over in a van and whacked him and you and the Pigman walked away nice and cool, then you ran up the alley shittin' yourselves.'

‘Where you get this stuff?'

‘Ah, Jim. It's Cringila Hill, you know? Somethin' happens, it gets into the air, people breathe it in and they know. Do you know who whacked him?'

‘Do me a big favour. Forget this shit. That's all I need, some shooter somewhere thinkin' there's a kid called Jimmy Valeski knows about Abdul gettin' whacked. Nothin' in that for me, I can assure you. Who done it? How the fuck would
I
know?'

‘Yeah, well, just sayin'.'

After a short pause Jimmy says, ‘My mum will be finishing cleaning the school soon. She's gonna make me potato pancakes for my breakfast.'

‘Potato pancakes?'

‘And bacon. And coffee.'

‘Sounds good.'

‘But I need to get down to the harbour, get a coupla fish from a boat if one's just in.'

‘Why the fuck you need fish?'

Jimmy laughs. ‘It's a long story.' He stops smiling. ‘Gotta go. And no more. No more about me seein' what happened to Abdul.'

‘Who's Abdul?'

Jimmy laughs, nods. He goes to his bike, wheels it to the roller door, draws on the chain to raise the door. Outside the air is a little thinner with daybreak closer. He looks back to his friend.

‘That was strange, you know,' he says, ‘about Abdul.'

‘Yeah. He got killed.'

‘No, it's more than that. I'm dreamin' about it. Bad dreams. I mean, him gettin' killed, that's big enough, but let me tell you, it's bigger even than that.'

‘I thought you didn' know nothin'.'

‘Jus' sayin'. Kid gets killed like that. Very strange.'

‘Yeah? Well …'

Jimmy nods, shrugs, mounts his bike and rides away.