Wyatt - 05 - Port Vila Blues (19 page)

Liz leaned over until she was
centimetres from his face. And fuck you, sir. She saw Montgomery blink, make
a wide O of dismay with his mouth, and she went on before he could reclaim the
advantage. A policeman in plain clothes tried to kill me. Im not making it
up. This man can be connected to Springett. This afternoon Springetts been
asking questions about the shooting. How did he know so soon? She stood back
again. Springett gives security advice to business firms, right? Visits their
premises, all that kind of thing?

Montgomery still looked ugly, his
face flushed and sour, but he was listening. This had better be good.

Liz mapped it out for him, how
Springett came by his inside information and passed it on. Hes still in the
building, she concluded.

A weary kind of resolve powered
Montgomery out of his swivel chair. At least he should be allowed to have his
say. Come with me.

She backed away. Why? Where?

Were going to see what his
reaction is. Every man has the right to face his accusers.

Sure. I accuse, he denies, leaving
us deadlocked. I say we tread carefully. I mean, he ordered me
killed,
boss.

Thats your version. Isnt there
another reading? For all I know, youre behind it. Maybe Springett and
Lillecrapp were getting close to you and thats why you shot Lillecrapp. See
what I mean? Come along.

Liz stared at him bitterly. There
was nothing grand-fatherly about Montgomery now. Thanks a lot. Stick up for
your own, right? Stick up for a senior officer. Stick up for the
boys.

But she went out with him, conscious
that she was sounding like a child. On their way to Springetts office she told
herself that she needed facts and figures to throw in their faces, not
supposition. Who did she know in Records who owed her a favour?

Another thing she told herself:
maybe Montgomerys involved.

* * * *

Twenty-eight

It
had been sweet while it lasted. Now things were slipping away from Springett,
De Lisle fucking them around, Lillecrapp fouling up in that Emerald shooting.
Hed made appropriate noises of shock and bewilderment around the Department
but soon the suits upstairs would want a word with him about Lillecrapp, and hed
just seen Redding in the building, looking grim.

Better to run than wait for
confirmation that they suspected him. Fly out before they could alert the
airlines. Find De Lisle before the little shit ran with everything. Get Niekirk
to help him.

Springett had documents in his desk
that related to each of the magnetic drill robberies. It wasnt
incriminatinghe was in charge of the investigation, after all. What he
shredded were his notes on the alarm systems, security patrols, staffing levels,
timetables, the photographs of Wyatt, Jardine and Redding, material that was
innocuous on the surface but which hed be asked to account for if he were
arrested.

He had money, false passport and a
change of clothes in a gym bag in the bottom drawer of his desk. There was a
gym on the top floor; everyone knew that he exercised there once a day, so his
walking down the corridor with the bag wasnt going to excite anyones
attention.

Too bad he couldnt risk going home
first. There was nothing to incriminate him there but it was a shame he couldnt
take his Glock pistol with him. Austrian, 9mm, constructed mostly of ceramic
material, it could pass through a metal detector and not set off the alarm. Now
it would sit forever under the floor in his study, or at least until developers
demolished the house and erected a huddle of townhouses on his block, something
that had been happening up and down his street in the past couple of years. The
world was full of arseholes.

Springett hadnt gone five paces before
Redding and that old fart, Montgomery, stepped out of the lift and began
heading toward him. Montgomery raised an arm: A word, Inspector Springett.

Springett knew what about. He
slipped his free hand inside his suit coat, wrapped it around the butt of his
service .38 and approached them with a friendly bounce in his step, trying to
read their faces. But something in him spooked Redding. She shouted a warning
and ducked back into the lift. Too badshe would have made the better hostage.
He snatched out the .38, roared: Montgomery. I want you. Stop there.

Instead, the stupid fool turned to
run. He wore shoes with flat, gleaming soles. Springett saw a flash of newish leather
as the soles failed to gain purchase on the highly polished linoleum, pitching Montgomery
face first into a fire extinguisher and then like a sack of potatoes to the
floor.

Fuck. Now he had no hostage at all.

Springett ran back the way hed
come, past his office, into a region of dark storerooms, filing cabinets and
spare office furniture. He found a corner and waited and thought.

Springett didnt actually hear or
see anything, but within a couple of minutes he began to register a shift in
the atmosphere. He knew how theyd work it: first, activate the one-way
staircase locks on each floor, meaning thered be no way out if he were to try
the stairs; second, man all the exit doors; third, lock each elevator at the
bottom of the shaft; finally, make a sweep of the building.

They wouldnt have locked the
elevators yet, not this quickly. Springett chose the service elevator because
it ran in an unfrequented corner of the building and might be overlooked in the
early stages of the hunt. According to the indicator above the doors, it was in
the basement. This was the 9th floor. He pushed the button to bring it up to
the 9th, then ran down to the 8th floor doors. No one saw him force the safety
doors open and step onto the roof of the elevator as it passed the 8th floor
and went on up to the 9th.

He waited for five minutes before
the elevator was sent to the basement and locked there. He heard the elevator
doors being opened. He heard voices and footsteps beneath him as men checked
inside the elevator and then through the basement itself, before heading
upstairs to continue the search.

Five minutes later, Springett shoved
aside a batten in the roof of the elevator and dropped through to the floor. No
one saw him cross to the corridor leading to the street at the side of the
building. It was only used by undercover officers. People often forgot it was
there.

* * * *

Twenty-nine

Vincent
De Lisle was at the courthouse by eight-thirty on Tuesday morning, pushing
through the door marked Magistrates, saying
bon jour
to everyone.

Saying
bon jour
was an
idiosyncrasy he had, something quirky and appealing. He said it fifty times a
day and it earned him a grin from those who knew him and alerted those who didnt
to look twice and remember.

But this time a woman he privately
referred to as an ethnic dyke from the Womens Refuge Referral Service accosted
him in the corridor, scowling at the
bon jour.
He knew she was a dyke
from the short hair and dangly earrings, and he knew she was ethnic from the ID
on her lapel, Toula Nikodemas. I want a word, she said.

Not now, Miss Nikodemas.

This concerns your attitude, Judge.

Magistrate. And theres nothing
wrong with my attitude, De Lisle said, sweeping past her. He sniffed the air:
furniture polish, sweat and fear. Up ahead he could see a crush of defendants,
their families, their briefs.

Toula Nikodemas was at his heels
like a harrying dog. Last week you put one of our clients in jeopardy when you
dismissed her case. One could be excused for thinking you take the view that if
a woman is from a non-English-speaking background, shes less deserving.

De Lisle halted in his tracks. He
stopped being a reasonable man with work to do and became a crowder,
instinctively pushing into the space around Toula Nikodemas. Are you saying Im
biased, racist?

She backed away and he pursued her,
a warning finger in her face. He had small, clean, mild hands that would never
pull a trigger or turn on a current, but that did not stop them from being
hands that would sign a death warrant if capital punishment were still in
force.

Are you? Because if you are Ill
sue you so fast you wont know your hairy arse from your hairy elbow.

The Nikodemas woman took a deep
breath. I banish your negativity from my presence. I shall not let you or
anyone like you drain away my essence.

Jesus Christ, De Lisle thought. He
turned his back on her and strode into his office.

Morning Mr De Lisle, his new clerk
said.

De Lisle glanced at her in fury, the
incident in the corridor threatening to spoil his day. What was the clerks
name? Sally Something, a bright young thing, and wearing a skirt and blouse,
thank Christ. The one before her would turn up in trousers half the time. She
saw his fury, and went pale. Oh, hell, De Lisle thought, mustering a smile. Well,
Sally, your first Ladies Day.

Sally Something smiled dutifully at the
old joke. I put the intervention orders on your desk, sir.

It was a massive desk, solid oak,
topped with blotched green learner. A spill of pink-ribboned reports and
folders hid the top from view and De Lisle curled his lip. You might live like
that at home but not in my chambers, missy.

Sally rushed to the desk. De Lisle
saw the heat rising in her face, staining her cheeks and ears red. Sorry, sir,
Ill just

She bent over the desk, tapping
everything into order with the flats of her hands. De Lisle eyed her calves,
lovely bike-riding muscles tensing under her dark stockings. He eyed her rear
and the shape was perfect, but the smack he gave her was carefully avuncular as
he moved immediately clear of her with his forgiving wink. Not to worry. But
in this business, appearances matter, remember that. One of my colleagues has
been known to throw a case out of court simply because a barrister appeared
before him wearing brown shoes with a blue suit.

The blush was still there. Sally
finished straightening his desk and edged away from it. De Lisle wondered if
she was a bra burner. No way was he going to let her get uppity in the job. He
recalled that shed gone to a state school. Her law degree was from ANU, so shed
come a long way, meaning she was probably grateful, unlike some of the private
school snots hed had in the past, who saw everything as their birthright. De
Lisle himself was the son of French immigrants. Hed put himself through law at
the University of Sydney. Hed also come far, but it hadnt been easy and now
he was making up for it in ways young Sally Something couldnt even begin to
guess at. The grin was splitting his face and Sally smiled back nervously,
without a clue in the world what he was thinking.

Right, he said. Ladies Day.
Perhaps you could brief me?

This put Sally on firmer ground. Yes,
sir. First up is

Sit down, girlie.

Sally sat and De Lisle sat and they
faced each other across his heaped desk. First up is a North Ryde woman whose
husband

De Lisle spat the word. Nationality?
Turkish.

De Lisle shook his head but didnt
speak. He scribbled # 1, Turkish on his pad, then looked up again. Skip the
next part, I know it by heart. She in some refuge at the moment?

Yes, sir.

Right. Next case?

Same thing, sir. A woman

Nationality, Sally. Nationality is
vital.

Vietnamese.

That was interesting. De Lisle
pursed his lips. You get young Asians knifing each other, demanding protection
money from their own kind, but you dont often get domestic violence. Its been
my understanding that your Asian values the family.

He looked inquiringly at his clerk
and it was a while before she responded, picking her words carefully. I dont
know if these things are necessarily culturally determined, sir. Men

De Lisle slammed his hand on his
desk. Hah! Got you! I know where youre coming from, missy.

She was confused. Sir, it just
seems to me

Seems? Forget seems. Use your eyes
and your ears and look at the facts, thats my advice to you. Ive been doing
this for twenty years and I know the difference between what things
seem
to
be and what they really are.

Yes, sir.

Look, Sally, weve got how many
hearings on the slate today?

Ten.

Breakdown?

She looked at her notes. Four
intervention order this morning, six thefts and assaults after lunch.

Jesus Christ. The same parade of
trash day in, day out. Give me the ethnic breakdown of the intervention orders.

A Turkish, a Vietnamese: I told you
those. Plus another Turkish woman and a name that looks like it could be Serb
or Croat.

Lovely, De Lisle muttered,
scribbling on his pad. If it wasnt stupid everyday scum it was scum of a
different kind, like the rock spiders, boy-fuckers, uncovered during that
inquiry hed worked on last year. Still, something had come out of that, and hed
be reaping the benefits for a long while to come. Meanwhile . . .

You book the tickets?