Take Out (31 page)

‘Lilly, leave it! Get out!’ she cried.

The armchair caught fire. The heat was intense. Toxic fumes scratched at Stevie’s lungs. The hem of Lilly’s dress began to smoulder. Lilly paid it no heed, her face tight with concentration as she tried to knock the tube from the spreading flames. The heavy sword began to dip in her hands as if it might drag her into the fire too. Stevie hauled herself from Granger’s back and stumbled toward Lilly.

With her last reserves of strength, Lilly gave the tube a mighty whack and sent it skittering from the fire and along the floor. The bomb might still explode, but she had bought them time.

Stevie grabbed the vase of wilted daffodils from the sideboard and threw the water over Lilly, dousing the twitching flames on the hem of her dress. Appearing unhurt, the old lady stood over a wailing Granger. With one hand on the oak sideboard to steady herself, she placed a slippered foot on the back of Granger’s neck like a hunter with a trophy.

Stevie pulled her away and pushed her out the back door. ‘Stay there, Lilly,’ she commanded, turning back into the room. The Crow lay in the deep stillness of death, one hand licked by the flames of the burning chair.

Granger moaned as Stevie hefted her toward the door. The act of shoving the woman into the fresh air sapped her remaining strength. She dropped Granger to the ground and felt herself begin to fall.

Someone in a white shirt caught her before she hit the ground.

‘Fowler—what the hell are you doing here?’

‘I came to get those books off Mrs Hardegan. Looks like I arrived just in time.’

Stevie struggled against his hold. ‘Just in time? Jesus...’

‘Where’s the old lady?’ Fowler asked.

She managed to pull away from him, her panic infusing her with the strength she thought she’d lost. She spun around. ‘Shit, she was here a minute ago.’ People from the street were beginning to spill into the back garden. She heard someone yelling out for the fire brigade.

She made a move toward the back door just as Lilly reemerged, coughing and soot-streaked, cradling something in the folds of her cardigan.

‘We couldn’t leave our feathered friend,’ Lilly said through her coughs. She held the cardigan up for Stevie to see the contents; Captain Flint, bloodied, charred and almost devoid of feathers, lay inert in his cashmere nest. Stevie felt the tears begin to well.

Mrs Hardegan chuckled at Stevie’s distress. ‘Not dead.’ She gave the parrot a poke.

The black-skinned creature opened a beady eye. Its grey blob of a tongue levered up and down for a moment, and then it croaked, very softly,
‘Bloody Japs.’
(Image 30.1)

Stevie and Monty sat in silence on the park bench. The light was beginning to fade. Gleaming whitecaps replaced orange sequins as dusk closed in. Seagulls swooped through the balmy air and flurried around packed picnic tables, competing for tasty morsels. ‘Time for tea!’ parents called to kids still playing in the sucking tide.

‘Shark o’clock,’ Monty said.

Stevie smiled, sniffed the salty air and brushed the sand from her bare legs. It had been a good day. Reconstruction had commenced on their house and the doctor had given Monty the all-clear to return to work. They’d celebrated with a bottle of champagne and a dozen oysters, then a sunset walk along the beach with Izzy running on ahead, playing catch-me-if-you-can with the lacy fringe of the sea. Now their daughter swung on the swings, whooshing high, screaming with delight as she leapt from the seat into the air, trying each time to jump further than her last line in the sand.

Monty got up from the bench and stretched, the red worm of his scar peeping above the V-line of his Hawaiian shirt. ‘How’s Granger?’ he asked, out of the blue. It had been days since either of them had mentioned the Mamasan, and it seemed almost sacrilegious to bring up the subject on an evening like this. But ever since she’d told him the truth behind the house fire, they’d made a pledge of no more secrets. Say what you think, don’t hold back; sometimes protection causes more damage than it prevents.

‘No further suicide attempts, though she’s still being treated for depression.’

‘My heart bleeds for her.’

‘She was a victim first, you have to remember that. And she loved him.’

Monty shuddered. ‘If that’s what you call it.’

‘I got a call about Lin yesterday,’ said Stevie.

‘The young girl?’

‘She’s been offered permanent residency and she took it. Unlike Mai. She’s decided to return to Thailand now the murder charge has been dropped.’

‘Hardly surprising Mai’s enthusiasm for Australia has waned after what she’s been through,’ said Monty.

‘She visited Lilly a few times before she left.’

‘Where is she?’ said Monty.

‘With Captain Flint, at Lavender House, while the house is being fixed up.’

‘The one near the golf course?’

Stevie grinned. ‘Lilly calls it ‘Withering-on-the-Vines.’

Monty laughed.

‘She was thrilled when I took Mai to see her, clucked all over baby Niran. God knows how they were able to communicate, but they seemed to manage okay. Lilly said she was going to learn Thai once she’d re-mastered English so they can stay in touch.’ Stevie paused and gazed thoughtfully at the grey line of the horizon. ‘Those two have an interesting chemistry—I can’t figure it out.’

‘Wasn’t Lilly’s husband a prisoner of the Japanese during the war?’

‘Yes, the Samurai sword was a souvenir he brought back with him. Wish I knew more of her history. Skye once told me she served during the war in the navy too, but that’s all I know.’

Monty shook his head. ‘Feisty old bird.’

A wail cut into their conversation, Izzy made a crash landing and both parents rushed to her aid. She reached out to Monty as if Stevie wasn’t there. The grazed knee wasn’t life threatening; he kissed it better and carried her to the tap at the top of the steps and cleaned the wound. Minutes later she was back on the swing as if nothing had happened.

Monty returned to the bench. Sensing Stevie’s despondency he took her hand. ‘She only came to me because I’ve been home so much lately.’

‘I’m not much of a mother, am I? I might have spent weeks reuniting Mai and her child, but I’ve totally neglected my own.’

‘You’re a wonderful mother. Don’t over-analyse things.’

Stevie swallowed down her emotion. ‘I think it’s time for a change.’

There was an awkward silence. Monty’s gaze dropped to their clasped hands. ‘What kind of a change?’

‘I’m going to put in for a transfer, something less demanding, more regular hours. I’ve had enough of sleaze and exploitation.’

He expelled a breath of relief, ‘Christ,’ and pressed his hands to his eyes. ‘I believe they’re after a lollipop lady in Maylands.’

Pulling his hands away she kissed him on the lips. ‘Sounds perfect.’

He got up from the bench and headed toward the icecream van in the carpark.

‘Hey,’ Stevie called out to him. ‘Where are you going? You know you can’t have ice-cream.’

He ignored her, walked past the van and stopped pointedly at the top of the beach steps near the shower. Then he turned back and grinned at her through the fading light. (Image 31.1)

Niran’s mother holds his chubby hand as they make their way through the busy market. All around people yell, selling food from their stalls. Niran whines, says he’s thirsty. The earlier train journey was fun, but he doesn’t think much of all this walking. Eventually his mother gives in, buying him a coconut with a straw in the top of it. He sucks the sweet juice and listens to his mother talk to a walnut – faced old woman behind the stand. A boy with a machete works behind her, skilfully hacking the husks away from the nuts. Niran thinks it looks like a fun job. He’d like to ask for a turn, but he knows he is still too small; he is barely strong enough to hold the coconut with two hands and he knows his mother would never let him try. He puts his drink back on the stand and hides among the folds of his mother’s silk dress, inhaling her perfume.

He hears her asking for directions to the house his mother wants to visit. The old woman says it is not far away, just a short walk. Niran turns his mouth down; his legs are burning, he hates that word ‘walk.’ He wishes they could hire a tuktuk but he hasn’t seen any of sign of the cheap Bangkok taxis in this dusty old village. When the old woman finishes telling them how to get to the house, his mother rewards her with a folded note from her diamond purse.

A little further on from the market stalls they stop at the village tap. Niran’s mother pulls a handkerchief from her sleeve, wets it and wipes Niran’s face and sticky hands. She reminds him to bow when he meets these strangers, keep his eyes lowered and say nothing unless he is spoken to first.

She increases her pace and Niran has to jog to keep up with her. Her hand grips his so tightly he almost cries out. They eventually arrive. Still gripping his hand, Niran’s mother speaks to a girl smaller than he is, playing with some empty bottles under a bamboo house. She has filled them up with water and they make
ding dong
sounds when she hits them with a stick. Niran would like to play too, but remembering his mother’s warning, he stays silent. The girl runs up the wobbly steps, calling out to her father. Another older girl dressed in shorts and a T-shirt looks at them from the house for a moment and then disappears. She comes back, minutes later, wearing a blue dress. Her father brings her down the steps and then hands her a plastic bag. Niran thinks it must contain clothes, it looks squashy. The girl in the blue dress looks back up at the house, sees her mother looking down at her and begins to cry.

‘Don’t cry, Pi,’ her father says with his hand upon her shoulder. ‘This woman is here to help you if you will help her.’

Niran’s mother looks the girl up and down. ‘She’s not very big.’ For some reason, Niran’s mother looks sad when she says this. ‘I thought she was older. I don’t like to start them off too small.’

Pi’s father makes circles over his chest with both hands. ‘She’ll grow. Meanwhile, she can look after your son while you work—she’s good with children.’

Niran’s mother runs her hand across her chin as she thinks. Pi’s mother looks down at her from the house, holding hard onto the veranda rail.

‘Say hello to Pi, Niran,’ Niran’s mother finally says. ‘This girl is to be your big sister.’

Pi’s mother lets out her breath and claps her hands with joy.

Pi is still crying.

Niran bows to Pi as he has been taught. He has to tell his feet to stand still and not jump all over the place. He has always wanted a big sister. He hopes the girl will stop crying soon and play with him.

There are several people I’d like to thank for helping me to get this novel to print. Firstly, three of my harshest but most valuable critics: Carole Sutton, Trish O’Neill and Christine Nagel. Also my daughter, Pippa Young (RN), for updating me on nursing practice in the noughties; my agent Sheila Drummond; Wendy Jenkins for her advice and assistance; and Georgia Richter, my talented editor from Fremantle Press. Last but not least I’d like to thank my mother, Angela Wilmot—Mum, you know why.

She was naked, her body was hairless and she’d been sprayed with bronze paint. She was posed in a provocative manner with her legs open, her chin resting in her hand and her elbow on the stone table in front of her. I think the intention was to make her look like she was some kind of nude supermodel or a mannequin even.

The woman’s face was an expressionless mask... Easeful Death was printed down the length of her right thigh in black marker pen.

Someone is killing beautiful young women and taking extraordinary risks to carefully pose their painted bodies in public places. The first is bronze, then silver—who will be gold?

Detective Sergeant Stevie Hooper, young, hard-edged and newly seconded to the Serious Crime Squad, finds herself haunted by disturbing flashbacks as the bizarre case unfolds. As she closes in on the killer, the carefully drawn line between her professional and personal life becomes increasingly blurred until Hooper no longer knows who she can trust.