Roll With It (18 page)

She had white wine and talked about her work, about this funny new guy who had recently moved down from Brisbane, about how much she was enjoying running at the moment – was even thinking of training up for a half-marathon with some of the crew from her office – and about some of the better stuff she’d seen on Facebook lately.

Marcia never once asking about the shooting inquiry, Laver’s new job or why he looked so tired.

In the end, a waiter in a kilt and singlet came to get them and they agreed to two stools in the window, overlooking the street. It actually wasn’t bad, with their backs to the human bedlam that filled every corner of the restaurant.

Marcia was no longer even trying to keep the one-way conversation going, as Laver waited for any kind of question to come his way. But no, instead she checked her iPhone and tapped texts as their wines arrived, Marcia silent, right up until the burrito and gado gado arrived.

‘So Marcia,’ he finally said, ‘I’m aware that there have been times my job has appeared to have priority over us.’ Marcia snorted into her wine – not exactly the response he’d been hoping for.

He tried to find another way in. ‘I’m going through a really hard time at the moment, and it’s made me realise how important you are to me, and how much I need you.’

Her phone beeped with a text, but Marcia had the decency to ignore it.

‘We’ve been together a while but I feel that, right now, we’re not really together. I’m wondering what we can do to change that, to be, you know, more to one another.’

He was sounding like a bad movie. Marcia folded her arms.

‘I’m seeing this whole thing, moving to a mountain bike, being out of Major Crime, as a chance to assess my priorities and for us to look at how we can take things to the next level where, you know, my job isn’t such a roadblock, where we can truly consider the word “family”.’

Marcia’s phone chirped again and this time she said, ‘Sorry, I’ll just answer this quickly.’

Which almost made Laver put the phone through the fucking window, but he held himself – just.

Instead, jaw clenched and trying to breathe, he distracted himself by watching the tide of people passing outside the window. Across the road, couples were eating ice-cream on the stools outside Trampoline. Marcia was smiling slightly as she tapped the screen on her phone. Laver, breathing slowly, concentrated again on the view. Hey, wow, the second-hand bookshop looked like somewhere he should visit next time he rode through there, killing another work day.

He found himself wondering about the speech he’d just given. Was it even true? Laver hearing the words come out of his mouth about family taking priority and wondering: was he only telling Marcia what she wanted to hear because he didn’t want to lose her? Or was he really ready to step back from Major Crime? From serious, time-consuming police work? He didn’t want to lose her. But was he prepared to ride a bike around for the rest of his career? Or leave the force altogether?

He kept watching the street and a guy in a full-length leather coat, with a big black cowboy hat and a long beard and moustache, caught his eye. He was handing out flyers, giving one to a kid in a T-shirt and a colourful floppy beret that didn’t suit him at all. Laver thought he’d seen a hat like that before, and then realised with a jolt that he was looking at the kid from the Soul Food Café.

Barely registering that fact before seeing a balding man in a suit, slightly overweight and looking entirely out of place on Brunswick Street, never taking his eyes off the kid ten metres in front of him. Both headed south towards the city, the kid oblivious that he was being followed.

Laver found himself sliding off his stool, only barely aware of Marcia’s voice, behind his back, saying: ‘Honey? Tony? Where are you …? What the hell?’

Laver thinking, as he moved to the door, ‘So now you look up from your phone.’

The guy in the suit was about a block ahead when Laver made it outside and he moved onto the road, jogging along the bike lane to catch up and then get ahead, hoping the guy didn’t look to his left. He didn’t. Laver picked a gap in the traffic and made it to the pavement just as the kid got to Bar Open, looked at his watch, peered through the door of the bar and then walked a few doors further up to the Brunswick Street Bookstore, and wandered inside.

Laver followed him and came around the other side of the central display to loom over the kid’s shoulder as he flicked through a book of great superhero comic covers.

‘Don’t look around,’ Laver murmured in his best ventriloquist impression, almost feeling the kid jump. ‘I’m the cop from the Soul Food Café the other day, off duty. Don’t look at me or respond in any way.’

Laver picked up a book at random, appearing to read the back cover. ‘You’re being followed,’ he said quietly, ‘but I don’t know who by. What’s your name again?’

‘Jake,’ the kid whispered, his voice high, standing frozen as though Laver had a gun to his back.

‘Okay, Jake, here’s what I want you to do: keep walking up Brunswick Street, towards the city, like you don’t have a care in the world. Do not look behind you. Check out some shop windows, free as a bird. Cross Johnston Street and walk a couple of blocks, then turn and saunter, very easy, very casual, back here, to the bookshop. Wait for me here. Don’t nod or say yes. If you understand me, just go.’

To his credit, the kid turned without a sound and headed for the door. Laver hung back and then followed, watching the guy in the suit, who’d been fascinated by the menu in the window of the restaurant next door, begin to move after him.

Laver picking up his pace and, when they got to the next side street, grabbing the man’s right elbow hard and guiding him into the off–Brunswick Street gloom.

‘Hey.’ The man pulling against Laver’s grip. ‘What do you think you’re doing?’

‘Having a chat.’

‘How dare you! I’ll call the police.’

‘I am the police.’

The man looking, wide-eyed and panting, at Laver in his T-shirt, jeans and cowboy boots. ‘Like hell you are.’

‘Off duty. If you promise not to run while I reach into my pocket, I’ll even show you a badge.’

The man nodded warily but stood there as Laver reached for his wallet and showed his police ID.

‘I’ll be filing a formal complaint,’ the man said.

‘Good for you. Why are you following that kid?’

‘I have no idea what you’re talking about.’

‘I just watched you tail that kid, and not very well, for two blocks. Why?’

‘Nope, no idea. This is outrageous. You’ll be hearing about this.’ The man was straightening his jacket, starting to breathe again. He had nicotine-stained teeth and Laver could smell old sweat. Laver put him in his mid-fifties.

‘Fine. Let’s go get the kid. He can ID you and then he can lay charges for harassment.’

‘What harassment? That charge would never stick.’

Laver shrugged. ‘It doesn’t really matter whether it does or not. By the time it’s heard you will have spent at least one night in the cells. You been to the Remand Centre? It’s not a lot of fun.’

The man sagged. ‘Listen, it doesn’t have to come to that.’

‘I agree. Who are you? What’s going on?’

‘I’m a private investigator. I’m working for a client.’

Laver crossed his arms. ‘Okay, then it’s my turn to promise not to run while you show me some ID.’

The man dug around in his jacket and it occurred to Laver, far too late, that he might be reaching for a gun. He was losing his edge in Siberia. But the man just pulled out a thin plastic folder and handed it to Laver, who tried not to show his relief or the fact he was cursing himself for being so sloppy.

The ID said that Jack Thirsk was licensed in the state of Victoria to practise as a private investigator, operating in conjunction with the Privacy Act and under the regulations administered by the Private Agents Register.

‘Fine,’ Laver said, handing it back. ‘Why are you tailing the kid, Mr Thirsk?’

Thirsk looked almost smug. ‘I’m not at liberty to say.’

‘Oh, give me a break. Don’t try to be Sam Fucking Spade with me, okay?’

‘I’m sorry, officer. Client confidentiality.’

Laver sighed. ‘Fine. Then I am officially telling you, as an officer of the law, that the man you are following is part of a wider Victoria Police investigation and if you are considered to be deliberately hampering that investigation or withholding potentially important evidence, your arse will be in a lot more trouble than Remand for one night.’

Thirsk was looking shifty, trying to process information on the fly, which Laver suspected was a struggle.

‘What’s the investigation?’ Thirsk asked.

‘Yeah, right. Why are you following this bloke?’

Thirsk shook his head, so Laver dug out his mobile phone. ‘Fair enough, I’ll call a wagon. Let’s hope your cellmate uses condoms.’

‘No.’ Thirsk sagged, sighed and dug around inside his coat again. The whiff of old sweat was stronger as his jacket opened. Laver felt slightly queasy. Finally, Thirsk pulled out a photo of a schoolgirl. She was pretty, with strawberry-blonde hair that was set off nicely by her green checked private-school uniform. Her hands were clasped in her lap and she was smiling. Laver had a moment of thinking she looked familiar.

‘Who’s she?’

‘My link to the man I was following. I can’t say any more than that.’

‘Not even her name?’

‘No.’

‘Who is your client?’

‘Please, officer. You know I don’t have to tell you that.’

‘Is the girl missing?’

‘No.’

‘Then what’s the issue?’

‘Really, officer …’

‘Call me Detective Laver. What’s the issue?’

Thirsk paused then said, ‘The company she might be keeping.’

‘A guy called Cig?’

‘Huh?’ said Thirsk, looking confused.

‘Never mind. Good girl goes bad, huh?’

‘Eloise isn’t necessarily bad.’

‘Eloise.’

Thirsk’s face was priceless as he mentally kicked himself.

Laver said, ‘For what it’s worth, the guy you’re following is about as dangerous as a kitten.’

‘If I could do my job, detective, I might be able to ascertain that.’

‘Don’t get sniffy, Thirsk. I’m more interested in looking after the kid than your income.’

‘Can I go now?’

Laver took a moment, thinking, then said, ‘One more question. Is your client a local?’

Thirsk looked genuinely surprised. ‘Yes. Why?’

‘No reason. Why don’t you have an early night, huh? The kid might want some privacy.’

Thirsk looked like he wanted to argue, but the Remand Centre threat was still in the air so he let Laver walk him back to Brunswick Street, headed north and kept going. Laver watched until he was sure and then wandered into the Brunswick Street Bookstore. The kid was deep in the store, behind stands of greeting cards, near the crime books, nervously sneaking glances at the doorway, but still took a moment to realise Laver was coming towards him. Laver remembered he hadn’t looked back when they’d spoken earlier.

‘Yeah, I’m the guy. My name’s Detective Tony Laver. We met at the Soul Food Café, yeah? You okay?’

The kid nodded, but unconvincingly. ‘Who was following me?’

‘Nobody you need to worry about. He’s a private detective who’s on the wrong track. We had a chat and he’s gone home.’

‘But why me?’

‘No idea. Did you say your name was Jake?’

‘Jake Murphy.’ He actually put out his hand, so Laver shook it, Jake’s hand moist with sweat.

‘You’re having a rough few days, Jake. Might be keeping the wrong sort of company.’

‘I’m thinking the same thing myself.’

‘Who were those guys the other day? Did you find out anything?’

‘No. Lou, that girl I was with, works at Friends of the Planet, a shop on Smith Street, and one of them is her ex-boyfriend or something, from there. I don’t know anything about the other guy. When you said I was being followed, I was really scared it was one of them.’

‘Why would it be?’

Jake shook his head miserably. ‘I don’t know.’

‘You’ll be okay but keep your head down, okay? Where were you heading to tonight?’

‘Bar Open, just down the street.’

‘I’ll walk you down there. I have to be getting back.’

As they walked, Laver pulled out his wallet and gave Jake a card. ‘I’m not actually in Major Crime at the moment but the mobile number hasn’t changed. You call me if you need to. Especially if you see those two from the other day.’

‘Sure. Thanks.’ Jake was reading the card, still sweating. ‘You know, I thought I saw a couple of men in the car park at work today.’

‘The ones from the café?’

‘God, no.’

‘Then what made you notice them?’

‘I don’t know really. They were in a white car. A sedan. I wasn’t even sure they weren’t just customers. Maybe I’m jumping at shadows.’

‘Can you describe them?’

‘Big. In suits, like cops in cop shows. Just the sense that they were watching. I might be imagining the whole thing.’

‘The guy tonight was real and those two in the café were very real.’ Laver was thinking as he spoke. ‘I reckon tonight’s was a loner. Didn’t seem the sort to have a partner and if he does, the partner was nowhere tonight. You’ve got my card. If you see anything weird at work, call me, okay? Even if it seems dumb. I don’t mind.’

Jake looked very young as he said, ‘I don’t get why I’m being followed. I don’t understand any of it.’

‘Then it’s probably nothing to do with you, Jake. Come on, we’re here.’

They were at Bar Open and Laver saw the hippie chick, standing by the bar. His immediate thought was that she was way out of Jake’s league.

‘Hey Jake, one last thing before your hot date.’ A blush appeared on Jake’s neck. ‘Those two at the café. Do you know their names? I thought I heard one call the other Cig.’

Jake screwed up his face, remembering. ‘Lou’s ex said his mate was a wild man, I think. And then the big red-haired one said something when you walked in. I thought it was “Stig”.’

Stig. That’s why ‘Cig’ had been annoying him ever since, his cop instincts knowing it was not quite right.

But, really? Stig?

The hippie chick was gazing steadily at them, sizing him up, as Jake said goodbye and wandered in.