The Mak Collection (75 page)

Mak led him along the road away from Gerry. It was in the opposite direction from his car, but he didn’t stop her. When they reached the end of the
street, they stopped and looked towards the dark waves below. Andy knew Gerry would be watching.

‘That was a little weird,’ Mak whispered, observing Gerry over her shoulder.

As they waited, he finally marched to his car and drove off.

‘I think he might be jealous,’ Andy said, by way of explanation for the stand-off. ‘Of our…past…um, relationship,’ he added, not wanting to sound presumptuous.

You sound like an arse, Andy.

‘Yeah, well…’ she began, but didn’t finish her sentence.

Yeah, well what? Yeah, well he has no reason to be jealous because I hate you, Andy? Yeah, well our relationship can never be saved?

‘That dinner was all about Gerry Hartwell, not the Crown, wasn’t it?’ she asked.

He nodded.

They stared at the lights on the shore for a while, watching the distant traffic on Campbell Parade that curved along the boardwalk and the near-empty beach of pale sand that was now dark and quiet. ‘It’s beautiful, isn’t it?’ Makedde said. ‘I never got to really enjoy it, I guess.’

She had lived at Bondi for only a week or two, her stay marred from the second day by the discovery of Catherine’s mutilated body. Her every moment in Australia had been tainted by her friend’s tragic murder and the events that followed. That was no holiday.

‘That trip didn’t bring you what you expected,’ Andy replied, stupidly, he thought.
Of course she didn’t expect to find her friend murdered, you idiot.
He was unable to find anything profound or even sensible to say.

‘Are you in a rush to get home, Andy?’

‘No.’
Home to what?

‘Do you want to walk with me for a bit? Now that all this is over, I’d like to…I don’t know, breathe the air or something.’ She chuckled. ‘Or maybe I’m just afraid you’re drunk too and shouldn’t be driving yet.’

He laughed. ‘No, I’m fine. But I’d be happy to walk with you.’

They made their way down a set of concrete stairs that led to a roughly paved path. The path would take them along the edge of the coast all the way to Bronte Beach, several coves away. Joggers, tourists and dog-walkers frequented the track, especially on sunny weekends, but at this hour they were alone. Although he could hear sand crunch faintly under their feet, Andy could barely even see his own shoes. There were no lampposts to illuminate their way. The only glow of light was in the distance behind them.

‘You know, I saw you driving yesterday. You were stopped at an intersection on Elizabeth Street,’ Mak said. ‘I was with Loulou at a café on the corner. It was funny to just look up and see you there.’ She sighed quietly. ‘I can’t believe that was only yesterday. So much has happened since then.’

Andy was unsure of what to say. There were many things he wanted to tell her, but none of it
seemed important now. All that time spent missing her and thinking about her, and now he found himself tongue-tied.

They continued for a time in silence, Andy’s thoughts growing calm as they walked. As his eyes slowly adjusted to the dark, he could make out the white caps of the distant waves, the shapes of rocks and tree branches at the side of the path, some writing on the concrete under their feet. The music and laughter of the restaurant had faded behind them, the noise replaced by the ocean’s timeless crashing rhythm. They strolled in the faint moonlight side by side, a strangely comforting experience. They did not touch, or speak. Andy kept his hands in his pockets, his eyes focused variously on the uneven path or on the dark horizon across the water. He did not want to look at Mak. He thought it might make him crazy if he did. He didn’t want to ruin the moment with talk of what had gone wrong, whose fault it was, what they had lost. There was no need to add the pressure of his longing for her.

‘Keep walking?’ Makedde asked.

They had reached the base of a steep set of stairs that would take them further along the path to McKenzie’s Beach and Tamarama. Andy knew of a great lookout about five minutes’ walk past the top of the stairs where they would be able to admire the winding coastline in both directions. Mak was eager to continue, and they forged on in silence. He noticed that she had no trouble bounding up the steep steps, even when his own breathing had
started to come hard, a faint ache growing in his thigh muscles.

Mak’s voice floated down from above him. ‘Oh, how exhilarating!’ she exclaimed. ‘It’s even better than I remember!’

He smiled at her enthusiasm and climbed the last few steps, feeling like an old man. He briefly caught sight of her several metres away, then she disappeared behind some shrubs as the path turned.

Mak was waiting for him at the base of another set of stairs. Her cheeks looked rosy, her breath visible in the cold night air. She smiled broadly as she took in the view, hands on hips and standing tall. Andy resisted the urge to bundle her into his arms and lift her off the ground. She used to love that. She had said that he made her feel as light as a feather.

Oh fuck it. I want to kiss her.

But he didn’t. He didn’t pick her up, either. Andy kept his hands firmly in his jeans’ pockets and stared in the direction of the ocean. The view from where they stood was breathtaking, but he could hardly focus on it. He had begun to feel regret that they were not truly sharing the moment—the unexpected confession and swift court victory, the end of the Ed Brown saga—the way they once would have, the way he had imagined they would when Ed was finally locked away for life. The whole experience had brought them together, but eventually pulled them apart. They should have been kissing, laughing, enjoying the victory together.
We should be making love
, he thought. He
could barely think or breathe for all the restraint it took to stop himself embracing her. It didn’t feel right to be so impersonal with her like this.

Andy felt a fingertip on his wrist, and jumped. It was Makedde’s hand searching for his. She had moved closer. He pulled his hand out of his pocket and squeezed hers, unsure whether it was safe to be even that intimate. Her hand felt smooth and cool in his. For a while they stayed that way, holding hands and looking out to sea.

‘My God, Andy. What happened with us?’ she said with a tremor in her voice. ‘Was it a mistake from the start? All of it?’

Andy didn’t reply. He pulled her in front of him and gazed into her face in the low light. It was lovely to see her up close. The wind blew her hair back, and the distant lights of Bondi glowed like a halo around her head. Her eyes looked into his, speaking silent emotions that he could not read. He wanted to tell her all the things he had felt in the past few months, but could not find the words. It didn’t matter. In the dark, Makedde leaned into him until her lips met his. Her kiss was a shock of cold from the wind, then warm and welcoming inside her mouth. The surprise of it jolted him into arousal. There she was, her fingers touching his arms, her tongue running slowly across his lips. He parted his lips further and kissed her deeper. Harder. He felt her exhale and melt into him. Her fingers slid across the back of his neck, gently pulling him into her. Andy bent to meet her, allowing himself the pleasure of her kiss, unsure
how long it might last. Now she was pressed firmly against him, her body like a puzzle piece filling every gap between them seamlessly, knee to knee, groin to groin, the swell of her breasts crushed against him. His blood surged at the feel of her, and some part of himself let go. He cradled her in his arms as he had always loved to. It felt so damn good. It felt right. He wanted to swallow her up with his rage and pleasure and anger and love. He loved her so damn much and nothing ever seemed to work between them.

Was it worth it to allow themselves this? Was it worth the gamble?

Yes.

Andy had no choice. He picked Mak up and carried her. She clung to him, kissing, squeezing, encouraging. He didn’t put her back down until they were near the edge of the tall cliffs, metres away, by the entrance to a rocky nook. Nothing but raging seas and whipping wind surrounded them. There was no one to see. With unspoken understanding, they crawled into the small shelter together, not even registering the cold, uncomfortable rock beneath them. Guarded from the elements, they kneeled torso to torso and began a slow ritual of sensual reacquaintance, hands reaching eagerly for every part of one another. He slid his grateful hands under Makedde’s coat and the soft fabric of her knitted top. Her skin felt warm and silky to his touch, his fingers seeming far too rough to be permitted such a pleasure. Makedde’s mouth felt hot and willing on his, her writhing form pushing him to a point of
carnal urgency. He was painfully hard, his body eager. She squeezed his buttocks and ground his stiffness into her. Her fingers found him, caressing the shape of him through the restraints of his clothing.

‘Fuck me, Andy,’ she whispered. ‘Please.’

Andy pushed her down without hesitation. She gave welcomingly under his weight, wrapping her long legs tightly around his hips. Eagerly, she pulled at his belt buckle, tugging until he was free and pressed rigid against her thighs.

In the dark they came together, trembling and holding tight, bodies arching and sighing as they pleased one another, blissfully unconcerned about their numbing knees and elbows, and the biting cold of the whistling autumn wind. It was over an hour before they ventured from their rocky bed to find another, more private place to continue their renewed passions unhindered.

Feeling rough.

At nine forty-five on Friday morning, Andy Flynn reported to Detective Inspector Roderick Kelley’s office, as requested. He felt like a train wreck. He gingerly carried a styrofoam cup of watery drip coffee, and dragged himself through Central Homicide. His head was agony, though his heart was a great improvement from the day before. When he stopped at Kelley’s door, he straightened his collar with one gravel-rash afflicted hand.

Ouch.

Andy had woken to find his palms and knees roughed up from the sharp bed of rocks that he and Makedde had enlisted as a makeshift mattress on the Bondi cliffs. Not that he had felt any discomfort at the time. He had been far too busy focusing on more pleasant sensations.

He found Inspector Kelley staring pensively out of the large window of his office with his hands clasped neatly behind his back. Andy did not want to disturb him—in fact he wanted nothing more than to crawl back into Makedde’s warm and inviting hotel bed whence he had come. But that
was not an option just yet. Andy rapped on the open door. ‘Sir,’ he said simply.

‘Flynn. Take a seat.’ The words were spoken without Kelley even turning his head. Andy took his cue, settling into the chair with a rigid attentiveness that he hoped would compensate for his bleary-eyed morning face.

Andy waited for Kelley to continue.

And waited.

The minutes ticked by painfully as Kelley pondered something at the window. He always did this when he had an important matter to discuss. It perturbed Andy somewhat, though he could not think of anything that he had to fear on this occasion. The outcome of the trial had been surprisingly good, but being called to Kelley’s office was still a nerve-racking experience. Andy had been in the hot seat more than a few times in this office—what was it now?

Andy found his mind ticking nervously over the possibilities of what might have occurred to necessitate one of these meetings.

Jimmy in trouble? Problems with the media?

After what seemed an eternity, Kelley left his spot at the window to take a seat. The leather chair creaked under his weight. He leaned forward across his broad desk, resting on his elbows and clasping his hands together thoughtfully. Andy noticed that the cuticles of his fingers were raw.

‘You must be happy today,’ Kelley finally began, observing Andy with sharp, slate-grey eyes that
took in every detail. The crow’s-feet in the corners of his eyes turned up and he pressed his mouth tight in a stern, but not unfriendly expression.

Does he know about Makedde, or is he talking about the Ed Brown verdict?

‘Very happy to have Ed Brown behind bars permanently, sir. Very happy,’ Andy replied. That was, of course, quite an understatement.

‘Yes. That guilty confession…Quite a courtroom drama, I hear.’

‘Yes sir, a guilty confession and a courtroom full of witnesses to hear it. You can’t argue with that.’ He found himself tapping one foot against the leg of Kelley’s desk. He stopped.

Kelley seemed in no hurry to move things along. He was evidently contemplating something, and Andy knew that his silences were not an invitation to fill the air with talk.

Tick.

Tock.

Kelley flexed his jaw and flipped through a couple of papers on his desk. Andy watched him silently. He was still lean and fit well into his fifties, a man with a lot of arrests under his belt and a lot of his life spent on the beat before he worked his way up to the rank of detective inspector. Kelley was no paper-pushing political mouthpiece, like some of the others. He knew about the work. He’d been there. Like many of the detectives, Andy respected Kelley enormously, and despite being somewhat in favour thanks to the ultimate success
of the high-profile Stiletto Murders case, he still feared him a little too. He supposed all mentors were like that—feared by those who revered them.

‘The profiling unit, Andy. How is that coming along?’ Kelley asked.

‘Well, as you know, a green light on the unit doesn’t mean a thing if there’s a red light on some of the funding,’ Andy said with some regret. It was an area of great frustration among many in the police force. ‘It’s stop, go, stop…’

‘Politicians.’

‘Yup.’

Andy gritted his teeth. The Commissioner, Rex Gibbons, was being attacked from all sides for his strategy on police reform and his allocation of taxpayers’ funds. The NSW Profiling Unit, which could have been set for full operation later in the year, was meant to be a high-tech national centre for criminal profiling with special focus on instances of serial rape and murder. Instead it was little more than a dream caught in a political and funding limbo. The delay had introduced Andy to a whole new level of frustration.