‘Sparrow...’
‘He’s in a bad way, Stevie,’ Wayne said. ‘You were lucky. They’re not sure if he’ll make it.’
Sparrow’s limp form was being eased onto the gurney as Wayne spoke. Someone was pumping air into an oxygen mask on his face. Blood seeped through the bandage on his head. Pools of blood on the floor were coagulating into the consistency of treacle, filling the air with a sickening metallic odour. Stevie noticed a pattern of smeared bloody footprints trailing and skidding their way across the honey-coloured floorboards. She pointed to them and cried out, ‘For God’s sake, stop them! They’re messing everything up!’
Wayne would have had to be a mind-reader to understand what she was trying to say.
It appeared he was.
‘Calm down, what’s done is done. Just let the medics do their job.’
Jesus, how long had she been out of it?
‘Sparrow was here when I came,’ she said. ‘I came to check out Michelle’s safe. He was hiding in the wardrobe. What happened?’ Despite her determination to stay strong she heard her voice unravelling.
‘You and Sparrow both seemed to get yourselves on the receiving end of a glass ornament.’ Angus pointed to the bright shards of glass strewn across the floor like scattered jewels.
She tried to keep calm as her stomach churned, and fought the feeling of sudden nausea.
‘Sparrow was cuffed, he didn’t stand a chance.’ She looked at Angus desperately. ‘The files, did he take the files?’
‘If that’s what was in the safe, yes,’ Angus said.
Her nod sent her brain lurching from the back of her skull to the front. ‘I didn’t get a chance to look at them.’
‘What about him?’ Wayne twitched his head towards Sparrow who was now being wheeled out.
‘He must have broken in after our guys searched the place. But he hadn’t opened the safe, I did that.’
Another gurney squeaked over to her side. She found herself eased onto it before she could find the words to protest.
‘Shit, Wayne, I’m not going on this.’
‘Stop your bellyaching and do as you’re told,’ he said.
‘Does Monty know?’
‘He rang us when he didn’t hear back from you,’ Angus said. ‘We got here at the same time as the paddy wagon. Baggly’s not going to be too happy when he hears Monty’s been interfering with the investigation.’
‘I need to speak to Monty. And De Vakey.’
‘You can see De Vakey in the morning,’ Angus said in soothing tones, ‘but you have to keep Monty at arm’s length.’
‘Jeez, can’t you just put the book aside this once, Angus?’
Angus raised his eyebrows. Fortunately he didn’t seem to have understood a word she’d said.
‘De Vakey, then.’
‘In the morning, like Angus said. You have to be checked out at the hospital now. You need to rest,’ Wayne told her.
His gentle pat on her hand was such a surprise she forgot to recoil.
saturday
17
Often some sort of a negative trigger starts off the murder spree: a death in the family, a relationship break-up, the loss of a job.
De Vakey, The Pursuit of Evil
The doctors had refused to give Stevie anything for the pain in her head in case it masked the symptoms of a serious head injury. She’d spent an uncomfortable night pricked by stitches and punctured by IVs, her eyes pierced by probing torch beams every fifteen minutes. When the X-rays and neural observations had finally ruled out brain damage, she’d been allowed a couple of small white tablets and a light breakfast. The effect of the tablets was almost instantaneous. Now, trying to focus on her visitors, it was a fight to stop her eyeballs from rolling back in her head. Monty was angry with her. Exactly why, she couldn’t remember.
He was standing in the middle of the hospital room, his large hands clamped around a tangle of greenery.
‘Monty,’ Dot said, interrupting his ranting, eyes narrowed with suspicion. ‘Where did you get those from? The Geraldton wax is exactly the same shade as the one in my garden. And those ferns ...
He looked down at the bunch of assorted vegetation. ‘My local florist, if you must know.’ He avoided eye contact with Dot, turned his glare back to Stevie. She moved her head to the side in an attempt to cool the heat. The tactic worked; one look at the shaved patch of hair and the neat row of stitches had the anger leaching from his face.
‘You’re lucky I’m off the case. I’d have you busted for this,’ he said, although his tone lacked conviction, as if the reprimand was only for appearance’s sake.
Now she remembered what it was all about. ‘You asked me to go, remember?’
‘Yes, but as soon as you realised there was someone there, you should have called for back-up.’
‘I wasn’t sure if someone was there or not.’ She pulled herself into a sitting position and leaned back on the pillows with her arms folded. ‘I have a headache. I don’t want to talk about this.’ Her head didn’t hurt all that much, but the conversation was reminding her of another one, years before, and she felt a sudden, urgent need to withdraw.
‘I can see that. You’ve always been good at avoiding the pertinent issues.’
She knew he was alluding to the other time in her life she’d had concussion and he’d visited her in hospital. It was after the event she hadn’t even been able to tell De Vakey about. She closed her eyes, hoping to be swept away by the drugs, only to be visited by an action replay of that last night with Tye printed on her brain.
She was standing in her hallway after an unpleasant night of put-downs and petty arguments. It was the wrong time and the wrong place to confront him, but the booze had clouded her judgement and the accusation of corruption had spilled without enough thought as to the possible consequences.
As soon as the words had left her mouth she knew she was in for a lot more than a smack around the head. One glance at Tye’s murderous expression and she bolted out the front door into the night. But as she flew down the front path her foot twisted in her high-heeled shoe and she tumbled on the uneven paving slabs, falling and hitting her head hard. He was on her in an instant, ripping at her blouse, tearing at her tights and skirt, raping her on the front path of her suburban house. She’d hardly fought, she didn’t scream; the neighbours were all around them, oblivious, watching TV in their cosy lounge rooms behind their weatherboard walls.
Stevie opened her eyes to find Monty staring at her. She was certain he’d guessed the truth back then, that there was more to her injuries than a fall down the front steps, but she’d refused to talk about it, knowing that if she started she would never have stopped. Such a revelation would have invited intimacy and intimacy meant vulnerability. The damage would be irreparable to both of them and it just wasn’t worth the risk. What better proof than the Christmas party, only a week after the rape—she’d been vulnerable, almost sick with alcohol, and he’d felt sorry for her. His sympathy was not what she wanted.
Even now she couldn’t meet his gaze. She looked at the blank TV screen above her head and began to finger the neck of her gown. Go with the drugs, she told herself. Relax and forget, it’s the only way.
Conscious of the moods of the adults around her, Izzy’s mouth fell in a downward curve. In a small, miserable voice she said, ‘Nanna?’