Violent Exposure (17 page)

Tight
fit, very tight.

So tight the zip wouldn’t come up.

He took the money out and adjusted the lie of the oxygen cylinder, then heard car doors slam out the front and the crackle of a police radio.

Oh, crap.

He broke out in a cold sweat.
Money back in the lounge? No. Keep on
. He rammed the money in and yanked up the flap, forcing down the bulges of the oxygen masks, hauling the zip up, up, as
he heard the old man from next door tell the cops they had to come around the back. Mick’s heart thundered in his ears as the zip slid home, and he leapt to his feet and managed one deep breath in an attempt to be calm as the police tapped on the closed screen door. He wiped his forehead on his sleeve and went to meet them.

The officer closest to the door was a wry-faced woman in her late thirties
with dark hair in a smooth bob and eyes like she’d seen it all before and knew she would again.

‘Hi,’ Mick said. ‘Body’s in here, but there’s a footprint on the floor there.’

The woman opened the door and looked where he pointed.

Her colleague was a stocky, flushed-faced man who glanced in, then said to the old man hovering behind them, ‘You can go on home, mate. We’ll come and see you soon.’

Once the old man was gone, the woman said to Mick, ‘Signs of violence?’

‘No,’ he said. ‘I found epilepsy medication, and to me it looks like he’s had a seizure and collapsed face down on the lounge and suffocated.’

She nodded. ‘Seen that before.’

She stepped over the print and Mick led her through to the living room. The Viva lay on the floor, a big flashing light and siren to Mick’s mind,
but she went to the body and bent down. The male copper came in and looked at the powder spilled on the table and floor.

The woman stood up. ‘You haven’t moved him?’

Mick shook his head.

‘Old guy give you much history?’

‘Said this one didn’t talk to him much but got lots of other visitors.’

‘Hmph,’ the male copper said.

‘You guys know him?’

‘Looks like one of our known low-lifes, Jason
Tredinnick,’ the woman said. ‘That the name on the medication?’

Except for the flashing word
thief
, Mick’s mind was blank. He went to the kitchen and wiped more sweat from his face and tried to breathe. He brought the packet back in and tensed his muscles so his arm wouldn’t shake when he held it out. ‘Yep, same name.’

‘Didn’t know he was living here though,’ the man said.

The woman sighed.
‘Better call the Ds, what with that footprint and all. We’ll wait outside.’

Her partner reached for the Viva and Mick jumped. ‘I can get it.’

The man already had it, and swung it up towards him. ‘Christ, that’s heavy. You have to lug that on every job?’

‘Pretty much.’ Mick flushed but the cops were already heading out of the room.

On the back verandah, the woman got out her notebook and asked
his name and station. He told her, and kept the Viva over his shoulder while feeling for his own notebook. Damn. Aidan still had it. He took out his pen and wrote Jason’s name on the back of his gloved hand. ‘And your names?’

‘Jamieson and Bishop, from Redfern.’

His handwriting was shaky. He smiled and put his pen away. ‘Have a good one.’

At the ambulance, he climbed into the back and pulled
the door shut behind him then clicked the remote to lock it. The only way somebody could see in was through the windscreen. He checked to see the street was clear, then crouched on the floor and emptied his workbag. The zip on the Viva was just as hard to yank down as it had been to pull up, and then a bit of the plastic bag got caught. He fought with it and swore and sweated in the enclosed truck,
his heart pounding with the knowledge that the cops might come to check he was okay if he took too long, then managed to work it free. He pulled the bag of money out and crammed it into his workbag, then fattened his jumper and rain gear over the top and tucked them down the sides. His hard hat no longer fitted and he zipped the bag up and pushed it in behind the driver’s seat then shoved the
hard hat on top. It looked so obvious but there was nothing he could do. It was too late to go back now. He concentrated on the baby in the pink cloud and on Jo’s face when he told her they had the money to go again, but then he realised she’d ask him where it came from, and wondered with a guilty and aching heart whether she’d believe he’d won Lotto when she knew he never, ever entered.

E
lla stared out the window while Dennis drove them to Katie Notts’ workplace. She couldn’t shake the memory of William Sheppard’s bony arms and it increased her frustration with the case.

‘Let’s visit Stewart Bridges again after this,’ she said.

Katie worked in a converted terrace house in Edgecliff. They went through a black wrought-iron gate then a heavy stained-glass door. A PA with
a headset was already smiling at them from behind a wide oak desk when they walked into the reception area. ‘Good morning. How can I help you?’

Ella showed her badge. ‘We’d like to speak to Katie Notts.’

‘Just one moment.’

The young man disconnected his headset and walked down a short hallway, tapped on a door and went in. Ella heard muffed voices then he reappeared and gestured for them to
join him.

The office was bright and white, the floor-to-ceiling windows looking out onto a courtyard full of ferns. A woman in her mid-thirties with short spiked blonde hair got up from behind a desk and came around to shake their hands. ‘I’m Katie, how can I help you?’ Ella introduced herself and Dennis. ‘We’d like to talk to you about Suzanne and Connor Crawford.’

‘Certainly,’ she said. ‘Can
I get you a tea or coffee?’

‘We’re fine, thanks,’ Ella said. ‘First up, do you recognise anyone in these photos?’

Katie studied the RTA and CCTV images. ‘No, I don’t. Is that Suzanne’s car?’

Ella took the photos back without answering the question. ‘Can you tell us how you met the Crawfords?’

‘Through my partner, Peta. I guess it was five or so years ago.’

‘How well do you know them?’ Dennis
asked.

‘Not very well.’ She picked up a pen and started rolling it between her fingers. ‘They were more Peta’s friends than mine.’

‘But you said you’ve known them for five years,’ Ella said.

‘That’s right.’

‘How often would you have seen them?’

‘Sometimes weekly, sometimes fortnightly or less, I guess,’ Katie said.

‘What did you do?’

‘Sometimes we’d all go out for dinner, we’d try different
restaurants in the city that somebody had heard about, and sometimes Suzanne would come over to our place.’ Her fingers went white on the pen.

‘Just Suzanne?’ Dennis said. ‘Not Connor as well?’

‘Occasionally,’ Katie said, ‘but usually it was just Suzanne. She and Peta liked to get into the red.’

There was tension in her voice. It was time to test her out. ‘What do you do for a job?’ Ella asked.

‘I run an architectural consultancy.’

‘Sounds interesting. How’d you get into that?’

She watched rather than listened to Katie’s response. The woman’s eyes brightened and her face and voice and even her hands became animated as she talked about her job, then Ella cut her off. ‘That’s great. So when did you last see Connor and Suzanne?’ Katie blinked at the interruption but said, ‘At Peta’s party
last week.’

No lie there, Ella was sure, but there was definitely something going on. ‘You’ve met Stewart Bridges?’

Katie nodded. ‘He did the photos for Peta’s sister’s wedding.’

‘Do you know him well?’

‘No. I’ve only seen him a few times really.’

Dennis said, ‘Did Suzanne or Connor ever talk about him? Mention that they were spending time with him?’

‘Not to me,’ Katie said.

‘Did Peta tell
you what Suzanne had said to her?’

‘About the affair? She mentioned it. I thought it was terrible. If they were having problems they should try to fix them, not do stuff like that.’

‘What makes you think it was because they were having problems?’

‘Because that’s what Peta told me she’d said.’

Ella thought for a moment, then said, ‘Did you like the Crawfords?’

‘They were our friends.’

‘They
were more Peta’s friends, you said.’ Ella studied her face. ‘And that doesn’t mean you have to like them.’

Katie rolled the pen between her fingers then put it down. ‘We got along fine.’

‘But you didn’t like them,’ Ella stated.

Katie cleared her throat, her eyes on the desk. ‘I don’t see how that’s relevant.’

‘Did something happen?’

‘Not really.’

Dennis said, ‘We’re putting together an enormous
puzzle. Your tiny piece of information could be crucial to us even if it doesn’t seem that way to you.’

Katie gripped the edge of the desk. ‘I don’t want to say.’

‘If you’re worried about being in trouble, we may be able to help you.’

‘It’s nothing like that,’ Katie said. ‘It’s just . . . okay, look. One night, about a month ago, Suzanne was over and she and Peta were living it up and Peta
went to the bathroom and while she was gone Suzanne hit on me. Hard. I pushed her away and she got all teary and said she thought it might’ve been just what Connor needed, and maybe she’d have to try Stewart after all.’

‘What does that mean, “what Connor needed”?’ Ella said.

‘Well, I presume she meant a lesbian affair, but I don’t know why he could’ve needed it.’

‘What happened then?’

‘She
just went on like nothing had happened,’ Katie said. ‘Peta came back and they drank some more and I went to bed.’

‘You weren’t concerned that she would hit on Peta?’

‘No, and I knew Peta wouldn’t have gone for it anyway.’

Ella nodded. ‘Did she say Stewart Bridges or just Stewart?’

‘Just Stewart,’ Katie said.

‘Why didn’t you tell us sooner about Suzanne approaching you?’

‘Because Suzanne
and Peta are – were – such great friends, and for Peta to find out that she did that will really hurt her.’ Katie’s eyes filled with tears. ‘Why wouldn’t I try to protect her from that?’

Her phone rang and she looked at it.

‘One final question,’ Dennis said. ‘Where were you the night before last?’

‘At home in bed.’

‘Alone?’

‘Yes, because Peta was flying back from London.’ Katie stared at
him. ‘I was alone from the time I left here at about six until your officers knocked on my door soon after midnight. Why? Do you think I did it?’

‘We’re just dotting the i’s,’ Ella said. ‘You know how it is.’

‘I’m afraid I do.’ The phone rang on. ‘I really should get that. Was there anything else?’ Ella and Dennis looked at each other, then Dennis stood up. ‘Thanks for your time. We’ll be in
touch.’

*

Connor felt the blood drying on his chin and neck, felt it tighten and crack when he turned his head to listen for the whisperer.

There’d been no more punches after that first one and he hadn’t heard anything except the sleeper’s breathing for a while. How long was hard to say – five minutes? Twenty? Time stretched and changed in the absolute darkness and in the fog that he’d come
to believe was drug-induced. At some point the whisperer must have left – or was he still in here, sitting, watching?

‘Fuck you,’ Connor said.

He shifted on the chair. His head throbbed under the tightness of the tape and his lip stung when he touched it with his tongue. His chest hurt when he breathed. His right thigh ached. He caught the shadow of a memory about it . . . a needle being thrust
through his jeans and deep into the muscle. The shock and surprise and anger and then the sting of the injection. Had he not fought at all? He knew he’d been drunk. So drunk that he’d stood there and let it all happen?

None of it made any sense, but what mattered right now was the memory that the other guy had been bound with the tape already, which meant he hadn’t wanted to be there, which meant
he didn’t want to be here either.

Connor set his toes against the cold tiles, gritted his teeth against the pain, took the biggest breath it and the tape allowed and tried to jump the chair forward. The tape around his chest jerked back against him. He leaned into it as far as he could and felt the burn of the cut on his pectoral and distinct bands across his upper chest and arms, different from
the rest. He was taped not only to the chair but to something else. He remembered the round thing he’d found behind him. He touched it again now, feeling cold metal, reaching up and down it the few centimetres the tape allowed, knocking with his fingertips and hearing the dull sound of something solid. A pole.

Connor sagged in the tapes. He was not crossing the room to poke the sleeper out of
his drugged state so they could work out their escape. He was sitting here until he came up with another plan – or until the whisperer came back.

*

To Mick’s relief, the cops stayed inside the house and the old guy next door only came out right at the end, waving cheerfully from his verandah as Mick drove away from the scene at a fiercely controlled pace.

Mick cranked the aircon up high and
raised his elbows towards the vents. He felt feverish and shaky. His workbag felt lumpy at his back and he reached around but the bag was hardly touching the seat at all.

‘I just stole a bunch of money,’ he said to the cabin.

The radio crackled in reply as Control gave a chest-pain case to a car in Glebe.

Mick stopped at a red and turned the aircon colder. He watched a woman push a pram across
the street and pointed out to himself the way she smiled at the unseen baby, and crinkled up his eyes so he could almost make Jo appear in the woman’s place.

Maybe he could say they got some back pay from an industrial court ruling. It had happened before. Not this much – never, ever anywhere
near
this much – but maybe he could persuade her that it’d been in the news, she just hadn’t noticed
because she’d had so much on her mind.

Or maybe he could say . . .

He didn’t know.

Could he possibly tell her the truth?