‘Yeah, you sound it.’ Stevie snatched the paper from him and read the headline. ‘Police re-enactment hopes to jog memories and catch impotent killer.’
‘We took the nameless female detective mentioned to be you—were we right?’
‘Don’t go there, Tye. None of your business.’
‘Monty needs his head examined. Advertising the reenactment in the paper like this will attract every sicko in Perth—or did this come after his suspension?’ Tye paused. He briefly broke eye contact. ‘And how is the old red-headed son-of-a-gun anyway?’
Tye’s jealousy of her friendship with Monty had always been a touchy point in their relationship, even when things were going well. She wondered how he knew about the suspension.
‘Was drinking with some old cop pals yesterday,’ Tye said as if she’d voiced her question aloud. Perhaps he’d seen the suspicion in her face. ‘They said he’d got into a bit of trouble: his watch by the body, off the wagon again, losing files. Doesn’t look good for Mont, does it? Though I can hardly blame him for doing the little cow in, she didn’t half give him grief.’
Stevie took the teaspoon and stabbed at the froth of her cappuccino. ‘Your friends talk too much. Who are you still mixing with, anyway?’
He ignored her question. ‘And I also hear James De Vakey’s been called in. Seems like everyone’s onto this psychological bullshit bandwagon.’ He looked into his coffee as if trying to suppress a smile, but she knew the expression was as calculated as everything else he’d ever done. ‘If you ask me, these profilers are sicker than the poor bastards they write about. You’d have to be, wouldn’t you think, to do a job like that? Guess they must really get their rocks off on it. Maybe it takes one to know one, have you thought about that? I’m glad it’s you not me. Hanging around with a bloke like that would really give me the creeps.’ He gave a mock shudder.
‘It’s you who’s sick,’ Stevie said, scraping back her chair. This meeting was going nowhere. ‘Let me know when you’re ready to talk about Izzy.’
Sliding the cafe door behind her with a thunk, she made the mistake of looking back at him through the glass. He smiled and mouthed, ‘Thanks for the coffee,’ and blew her a kiss.
When she got back home, nauseated, heart hammering, fingers still trembling, she found a message from Monty on the answering machine.
‘Stevie, I’m onto something, but for obvious reasons can’t leave a message. Sorry I couldn’t call last night, I had a bit of an accident and was laid up. My phone’s stuffed and I’m ringing from a public phone. I’ve got to go now. I’ll ring again later when I can hopefully give you some answers. Meanwhile, don’t trust anyone.’
She hurled abuse at the answering machine and slammed her fist onto the kitchen table.
***
With her mother and Izzy out together for the day, the house was quiet and the hours leading up to the re-enactment bled by. On any other day Stevie would have been glad of the precious time, but now she found herself at a loss. In the kitchen she turned up the oldies radio station as far as it would go and tackled the housework, anything to block the disturbing thoughts swirling in her head. Jeez, was there anything she wasn’t worrying about? Izzy, Tye, De Vakey, the re-enactment. What was happening to her? How could she have let her life get so out of control? And Monty. Oh God, Monty, she said to the kitchen sink. You seem to have got yourself into as much of a mess as I have. What a pair we are.
She scrubbed the bath and the toilet, changed the sheets and even made cupcakes for next week’s play lunches. She snapped the radio off when Jim Morrison began to sing about killers on the road with brains squirming like toads. The silence almost swallowed her.
***
She’d still not heard from Monty when she arrived that evening at the ops van with only just enough time to scramble into her Linda Royce outfit. The denim miniskirt was tight and restricting, the shoes cut into her feet and forced her to walk with a painful wobble. After loosening her hair to let it flare around her shoulders, she trowelled on the make-up, coating her lips with layer after layer of lipstick and gloss.
A technician wired her with the mike and they did a test run. Satisfied that she had effective communication, she buttoned up the figure-hugging cardigan and stepped out from the van into the street.
Someone whistled. Startled, she turned to see Barry giving her the thumbs up. When he approached, he was all business.
‘Now don’t worry about a thing Stevie, everything’s under control. We have cameras on the crowd and armed cops out of sight watching your every move.’
She’d never realised how reassuring Barry’s voice could sound.
‘You do just what Royce did. Step out from the photographer’s place and start heading to the bus stop. See that old guy standing with Wayne?’
Stevie squinted into the floodlit crowd of onlookers lining the temporary barricades. Wayne was standing with a dishevelled old man with a long white beard and a tasselled red hat that gave him the look of a malnourished Father Christmas.
‘That’s Joshua Cuthbert, the dero whose prints were on the bottle. Wayne’s about to move him into position. We think he saw something that night but his mind’s so pickled it’s going to need a good jolt.’
‘What happens when I reach the bus stop?’
‘Pause for a moment or two, relax, then start walking again; be yourself, as if the re-enactment is over and you just want to stretch your legs. Keep walking till you get to the alleyway about thirty metres down the street then duck into it. If De Vakey’s right, our guy will be watching. If he is, and he sees you disappear like that, he won’t be able to help himself. Don’t worry, we’ve installed surveillance cameras and the TRG are close by. Oh, and before I forget, here, take this.’ The dead weight of the Glock dropped into her open bag.
‘Ready then?’ Angus moved over to them.
Barry nodded. ‘Yep. Good luck, Stevie,’ he called as Angus took her by the arm to the door of the photographic studio.
‘When the guy with the clapperboard says action, step out of the door and begin your walk.’ Angus stood in the doorway with her. ‘Don’t look at the camera or any of the onlookers, okay? They want this edited and ready for tomorrow’s early news, so try not to stuff up.’
She was still focusing her glare on Angus’s retreating back when another figure sidled up next to her. ‘Hello, I just wanted to wish you good luck.’
Stevie raised her chin, folded her arms and fixed her eyes on the man with the clapperboard.
‘Don’t I even get an acknowledgement?’ De Vakey said.
‘Unfaithful bastard,’ she said through the corner of her mouth. ‘Did Wayne give you Vivienne’s message?’
‘He did.’ He hesitated. ‘You don’t need a wedding ring to be unfaithful, Stevie. My wife and I—’
‘I know, I know, she never understood you.’ She allowed a bitter pause. ‘Don’t insult my intelligence, De Vakey.’
‘Lights, camera, talent, action!’ The man with the clapperboard shouted.
Through sheer strength of will, Stevie put De Vakey to the back of her mind and stepped into the street as Linda Royce.