But time did not give him the luxury of catching his breath. He was already on his hands and knees when Thrummel’s boot caught him in the side, knocking him onto his back. The wiry younger man was on him in an instant, sitting on his chest and stifling any further attempt to draw air into his starving lungs. He grabbed a hunk of Monty’s hair in his fist and slammed his head into the pavement with a splintering crack that vibrated through to his teeth.
The stars were still dancing in his head when he felt an invisible band around his chest tightening and relaxing, tightening and relaxing. Thrummel was bouncing around on top of him, fumbling under the back flaps of his coat in an attempt to extract the handcuffs from his belt.
‘I’ve got you now, cocksucker,’ Thrummel said through huffing breaths.
Head splitting, starved of oxygen, the best Monty could do was bat out at the hands that attempted to cuff his own. But while his left hand parried, his right hand crept towards his coat pocket and the plastic bag of chilli powder. He brought his hand out with a jerk, letting fly in the direction of the man’s eyes, at the same time closing his own to protect them from the cloud of red powder.
Thrummel toppled off Monty’s chest, yelling as he fell backwards into the manhole. ‘Acid, the fucker’s put acid in my eyes!’
Monty didn’t hang around long enough to hear Keyes’ bellowing reply.
sunday
23
A worrying aspect about the organised serial killer is that he learns from his mistakes and tends to get better each time.
De Vakey, The Pursuit of Evil
Stevie had chosen an East Perth cafe for her meeting with Tye. She’d arrived early and queued for a table with the crowd of casually dressed couples salivating for their traditional Sunday breakfast. Finally she’d been given a table for two by the window.
She watched him manoeuvre his car into the disabled parking bay just outside the cafe. His battered Falcon station wagon had seen better days. Patched with rust, sporting a cracked windscreen and a precariously balanced muffler, the old bomb would have won a yellow sticker if Stevie had still been in uniform.
Not wanting to spend any longer than necessary with him, she’d already ordered their coffees and his sat steaming across the table from her.
He smiled as he slid into his seat. ‘Hiya, babe.’ He’d aged since she’d last seen him. The environment in which he worked was reflected in his face; skin cracked as a clay pan, hair spiked as spinifex, a rugged look that could probably still drive women wild. But not her, she wasn’t even sure if she could meet the challenge of sitting with him at the same table. Her armpits prickled with the sweat of her unease and she hated herself for it.
After a sip of coffee he broke into a beaming smile.
‘Black, two sugars, you remembered. Maybe there’s hope for us after all.’ He gestured at her old bomber jacket and shot her an ironic wink. ‘That Suzi Quatro-does-grunge look is a turn on, but I still kinda wish you’d dressed yourself up like you used to. Heads turned when I walked with you on my arm, made me feel proud.’
Yeah, tarted up made me all the more easy to catch and pin down, you bastard.
She took a deep breath. Stay calm, she told herself, don’t provoke him, and above all don’t show him how shit scared you really are. ‘We need to talk about my daughter,’ she said, reassured by the steady sound of her voice.
‘But you’ll always look hot to me, babe, no matter what you wear. Do you still blub every night over those old movies? Me Bogey, you Bacall—remember?’
She gritted her teeth. ‘Tye...’
In a soft low voice he began to hum. Stevie’s stomach tightened at the familiar tune. She’d tossed Casablanca out of her collection the day she’d booted him from her home.
‘ You must remember this, a kiss is just a kiss, a sigh ...’
‘Wrong woman.’
He stopped. ‘What?’
‘It was Bergman in Casablanca, not Bacall.’
A cloud passed across his face, he’d always hated being contradicted. He made a quick recovery. ‘Gee I miss those nights. But you’ve done well for yourself, haven’t you? A sergeant in the SCS, I’m proud of you Stevie, I really am.’
Nestling into the director’s chair, the wooden joists squeaking under his solid bulk, he smiled again, not taking his eyes off her.
The chain of events ran through her head again. She couldn’t stop it. It was her corruption allegations that had pushed him over the edge, but the tension had been building since the news of her promotion several weeks before. At first his unenthusiastic response had been a puzzle; later she couldn’t for the life of her understand how she’d misread the signs.
What was it he’d said as he’d grabbed her by the hair, just before he’d raped her? You think you’re better than me, bitch? Well I’m going to show you just how bloody wrong you are.
She suppressed her shiver, keeping her own expression blank as she stared straight into his smiling eyes, the same beguiling smile he’d fooled her with five years ago. She realised then, with an inner shudder, how very much like De Vakey’s it was.
The heat rose in her face. ‘Izzy,’ she said.
‘I bought her something. Here.’ His teeth flashed as he reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out a small velvet box. When she wouldn’t take it, he flicked the lid to expose a gold nugget on a fine chain.
‘This is what I spend most of my time at these days, digging these things out of the ground. It’s a filthy job, but it pays well. Izzy was asking me what I did the other day—’
‘You had no right to turn up like that,’ Stevie interrupted.
‘Give her this from me, will you?’ he said, as if she hadn’t spoken. ‘Then she’ll understand. When I told her about the nuggets, she thought I worked for KFC.’ He laughed. To a casual listener it might have seemed a joyful sound, but Stevie had heard it too many times before and it chilled her blood. ‘She’s a smart one,’ he went on. ‘I’m looking forward to getting to know her better. There’s something about the innocence of a child, isn’t there?’
She wrapped both of her hands around her coffee cup as if she were cold. The heat burned through her palms but she hardly noticed. ‘Why are you doing this to me?’ she whispered.
‘It doesn’t have to be like this,’ he said, his voice equally soft. He reached across the table and loosened her grip on the cup. ‘Don’t do that, you’ll burn yourself.’ His touch seared her skin more than the hot cup. She moved her hands away and stored them safely in her lap.
‘I agreed to this meeting to give you a way out, to save you grief, work out a compromise. I’ve got money now, Stevie, enough to get the best lawyer in the state on my side.’
He’d agreed to this meeting? He’d bloody asked for it! Under the table she twisted at a paper serviette, spearing it with her fingers, shredding it.
As he talked she listened for the telltale inflection in his voice, the precursor to one of his violent mood swings, but his tone continued in an easy calm. ‘My lawyer rang me this morning and drew my attention to the Sunday paper.’ There was a paper lying on the vacant table next to them. He reached for it and turned to page three. ‘I could almost hear him rubbing his hands together with glee on the other end of the phone. “I mean, really,” he said, “a dangerous, demanding job like she’s got, what hope has she of being granted full custody.” Then when I mentioned your loopy mother, who’d also be caring for Izzy, he almost came in his pants. I mean gee, your poor old mum. When I told him to leave her out of this, he told me to back off. If I wanted my daughter back I had to leave this side of things to him.’ He shrugged. ‘I’m really sorry about this.’