The Easy Sin (31 page)

“I'm still attached to the strike force, sir. They called me in to help with the security on the two women, Mrs. Magee and Miss Doolan.”

“Forget Mrs. Magee, I think we'll be keeping her up here, charging her. You'll have your hands full with Kylie. How's she been?”

“Clinging to Magee like crazy. I think she's at last woken up to the fact that everything's gone down the gurgler. She's a greedy little bitch.”

“Get used to it, Paula. That's the way the world is going. Take care.”

“How's your luck holding, sir?”

“
Just.”

Down in the garage Random was standing beside his own unmarked car with his driver and Errol Magee. “Garry has just told me we're all from Hurstville council. No fuss, no gossip.”

Malone looked at Magee. “You don't want Mr. Evans with you?”

Magee did not look comfortable, but there was no antagonism in him. “He won't be necessary. He's seeing what he can do for my wife.”

Malone didn't press the point. He just nodded and went across to Peeples' car. Peeples was behind the wheel and Malone got into the back seat beside Shirlee Briskin.

“Comfy, Mrs. Briskin?”

“No,” she said. “I'm never comfortable with a seat-belt.”

The two cars drove up out of the garage into the bright sunlight.

10

I

DARLENE BRISKIN
had just come out of the strongroom in Rockdale when she got the message from her mother. She wasn't sure what had prompted her to carry her mobile with her in the office; maybe it was pessimism, which cloaked her like rough underwear. She took the message, understood its abruptness, then shut off the phone. She looked back at the strongroom's open door and wanted to laugh, even if it hurt. It was full of money and more was due any minute when the Armaguard truck would arrive. She looked at it all, at the uselessness of it to her, then she turned her back on it and went to the staff locker room. She grabbed her handbag and jacket and went out of the bank with just a nod to one of the girls and no word at all to the manager. She had just resigned, involuntarily.

She had never kept an account at the bank, wanting privacy. She went down the street to the credit union office where she kept her money. She closed the account, taking out $3822.48. She looked at it as she stuffed it into her handbag and smiled wryly; no, sourly. Her entire stake for the future, if she had a future.

She went round a corner, stood in a shadow (already acting instinctively?) and called Corey on her mobile. He answered at once, as if he had been waiting on her call.

“Where are you?”

“Not at work,” she said. “I've just resigned. Mum called you?”

“Yeah. I've just resigned, too—though the boss doesn't know. What we gunna do?”

“You got the car? Okay, I'll catch a train to Sydenham.” Five or six kilometres down the line: the first stage to where? But she didn't think any further than meeting Corey. “Meet me there.”

“What about Pheeny? They'll pick him up, for sure. Can he keep his mouth shut?”

“
We'll have to risk that, we can't go to the hospital. The cops may already be there. They'll have picked up Mum—she said they were at the front gate. Oh Christ, Corey!” But she switched off the phone before she let him hear her weep.

Corey was waiting for her outside Sydenham station when she got there. He was parked right outside the station, giving the middle finger to other drivers as they hooted and yelled at him for blocking a traffic lane. He didn't care: their troubles were nothing compared to his.

Darlene got into the car beside him and they didn't speak till he pulled up five minutes later in a suburban street. Then she said, “We've really fucked up, haven't we?”

“Wash your mouth out,” he said, but his grin had no humour in it.

“What happened? How did we ever get into this?”

“Chantelle. She conned us, told us we were better than we thought we were. We were like football players, we moved up three grades, out of our class.” He looked through the windscreen, up the street. Three Aboriginal kids were throwing a football to each other: that was where the image had dropped into his mind. “Mum was dazzled by her. Her daughter, the one who'd made good in London.”

“Don't start picking on Mum. Or Chantelle, either. We could of always said No. The money got us in. Five million. Jesus, what I was gunna do with my share!”

He didn't ask what her dreams had been. They were gone now, like his own. “I dunno I could of handled it, that much dough.”

One of the Aboriginal kids kicked the football too hard and it came bouncing down the street to hit the front of the Toyota.

The boy came trotting down, picked it up, then walked round to look in at Corey.

“You looking for someone?” He was about fourteen, thin, with beautiful dark eyes made old with suspicion.

“No,” said Corey, “just taking a breather.”

“You're not cops, are you?”

Corey laughed, but it seemed to catch in his breast. “Nah, mate. Just thinking about suicide.”

The
boy's eyes suddenly whitened. “Shit, don't think about it around here! We got enough trouble, the cops down here all the fucking time!”

“No, sport, I wouldn't do it on your doorstep.” Corey started up the car and pulled it away from the kerb. “Shit, why did I say that? Fucking suicide!”

“Like he said, don't even think about it.” Darlene was silent for a mile or two, then she said, “You're gunna have to get rid of the car. They'll have the registration, they could be out now looking for it with us in it. Head for Canterbury Road.”

“Ah shit, Sis, I don't wanna sell it—” But he had already turned the car, heading south-west. “Where do we go?”

“Canterbury Road, it's all car salesyards.”

“No, I mean after that. Where?”

“I dunno.” She put her hand on his arm; she truly loved this brother of hers. He had done some stupid things, but she didn't believe he was
bad
. “We'll think of something.”

The traffic was heavy, as if it were on the side of law and order and respect for road rules; which it was not. They could not speed, much as Corey wanted to. Drivers yelled at each other, horns were blown, fanfares of road rage. On pedestrian crossings people who didn't own cars ambled across at their leisure, provoking more abuse.

At last Corey pulled off on to a car lot where a big sign claimed: Best Toyota Buys In Town!

The salesman had been born spruiking; his mother's tit had overdosed him with confidence: “Best buys south of Cape York! Whatever you want, we've got it—what? You're selling?”

Corey and Darlene were out of the car, putting on dark glasses against the glare from metal and windscreens and sales talk. “What'll you give us? Five years old, I been the only owner. You can see, looks just the same's the day I bought it.”

The salesman smiled, one of a dozen variety he kept handy. He was no older than Corey, overweight, good looks spoiled by good living. All that spoiled him was his spiky hair, which looked as if it was kept on by Velcro. “You in the trade? You got the talk . . .” He walked round the car, shaking his
head,
nodding it, the expert who relied only on the eye. He came back to Corey and Darlene. “Eight thousand.”

“Eight?” Corey looked as if he had been offered vouchers. “Ah, come on, sport—”

“Take it,” said Darlene, who had seen the police car cruising by, taking its time as if looking for stolen cars on the lot.

“Sis—”

“Take it!”

Corey looked at her, puzzled; then he turned back to the salesman. “Okay, eight thousand. I'd like it in cash.”

“We-ll—” The salesman pursed his lips. “We don't carry much cash here. Too risky. I don't wanna offend you, you know what I mean, but the car's not hot, is it?”

Corey was offended. “Look, I can give you my licence and the registration—” Then he stopped. “Shit!”

“What's the matter?” said Darlene, but she knew.

“The registration—it's at home—”

“Sorry,” said the salesman, seeing another prospect, a sales prospect, and heading in his direction. “Come back with the rego and we got a deal.”

Corey and Darlene got back into the car, sat staring ahead of them, at the future blank as a windscreen with sun on it.

II

As the two unmarked cars pulled up outside the Briskin house, Random's mobile rang. He got out of the car and went to one side to take the call. He listened for a minute or two, said, “Okay,” and switched off. Then he called Malone aside.

“The Briskin girl and one of her brothers have scooted. Both walked out of where they work without saying anything to anyone—they've done a bunk. I'd say that wraps it up. The family did the
kidnapping.”

“What about the one in hospital?”

“He's not going anywhere. Two of our fellers are keeping him company. He's kept his trap shut, except to say he's not saying anything till he sees his mum.”

Malone couldn't hide his grin of pleasure. “Righto, we'll get Errol to identify the room where he was kept, then we'll charge Mrs. Briskin. That might bring in the son and daughter who've buzzed off, depending on how loving they are.”

“You going to charge Magee's wife, too?”

“The whole family. A package deal, like at the Royal Easter Show.”

They went round the car and rejoined Magee, Shirlee Briskin and Peeples. As they went in the front gate Mrs. Charlton appeared at the side fence, a genie at the first rub of gossip.

“More trouble, Shirl? Oh, you're from the council,” she said, recognizing Malone. “Back again?”

“Sewer trouble.” Malone was light-headed, or light-hearted. This was his last Homicide case and he was going to close it successfully. “We may have to dig up the whole street.”

“That right, Shirl?”

“It's on the cards, Daph. Better be ready for the night-soil man.” She flickered a grin at Malone, then marched up to her front door, key at the ready.

“What's that all about?” asked Random.

“Tell you later,” said Malone, grinning, and followed Shirlee into the front hallway. He stood aside for the others to follow him. “Here we are, Errol. We'll take you through the house and see what you recognize. You weren't blindfolded all the time, were you?”

“No,” said Magee, looking at Shirlee.

She returned his stare, saying nothing. Malone glanced at her, saw the crumbling in her. “Righto, Mrs. Briskin? Can we start here at the front of the house and work our way through?”

“Do what you like,” she said sniffily. “Just leave everything like you find it. Neat.”

“Perhaps you and I can wait in the kitchen, Mrs. Briskin?” said Random.

She
appeared not to have heard him, just stared at Magee. Then abruptly she turned and went down the hallway. Random raised an eyebrow at Malone and Peeples, then followed her.

“Was she trying to tell you something, Errol?” said Malone.

“What?” Magee blinked, then recovered. “What would she have to tell me?”

“She's your mother-in-law,” said Peeples. “They usually have a lot to say.”

“You being funny? She's got something on her mind, but I don't know what it is. She's my mother-in-law, yeah, but I've never spoken a word to her. Ever.”

Malone studied him a moment, then he said, “Righto, let's start in here. Looks like the main bedroom.”

They went into the room and Peeples looked around. “Like she said, neat. I don't think they would of held you in here, Mr. Magee, not the front of the house. You weren't gagged all the time, were you?”

“No.” Magee looked around the room. “No, I don't recognize any of this.”

“If you weren't gagged,” said Malone, “why didn't you try yelling out? The woman next door would have heard you.”

“Have you ever been kidnapped?”

“No-o—”

Magee said nothing, his look was enough. Peeples, diplomatically, said, “Okay, let's move on. There's another bedroom across the hall.”

Malone suddenly began to feel uneasy, for no reason he could name. He followed Magee and Peeples into the second bedroom, also at the front of the house. This, too, was neat; there were two single beds, coverlets as neat as coffin drapes. Two enlarged photos on a wall: football teams, young men with arms crossed ready to take on the world. Magee looked around, then shook his head, saying nothing.

“Righto,” said Malone, keeping his voice steady. “There looks to be another bedroom behind this one. Let's try it.”

They moved down the hallway, Peeples leading the way. They went into the third bedroom, a
room
smaller than the other two at the front of the house. Malone stood in the doorway, watching Magee as the latter looked around the room.

This room, like the others, was almost impossibly neat, Malone thought. Lisa, at Randwick, kept a neat house, but it was a shambles compared to the Briskin house. This room looked almost unlived in. The solitary picture on the wall, a Hans Heysen print of gum trees and glaring sunlight, might have hung there, perfectly straight, since the day Heysen had painted the original. Malone, for no reason at all, all at once had the feeling he had walked into a vacuum.

Magee looked around the room twice, then turned back to Malone. “No,” he said calmly. “I don't recognize anything here.”

You lying bastard
! But it was just a silent exclamation in Malone's brain. He looked at Peeples and the latter heard what hadn't been said.

“You're sure, Mr. Magee?” said Peeples. “Absolutely sure?”

“Sure,” said Magee. “Absolutely.”

III

Errol Magee wasn't sure yet why he had lied. He had been shocked when they had told him that Caroline was probably the organizer of his kidnapping. There had been anger at what she had done; if she had done it. It was bizarre to think she had come home all the way from London to do such a thing.