‘What?’ she said, ‘what?’
‘I thought you were…fighting me.’
‘I like fighting you. What’s wrong?’
‘Nothing.’
‘Turned you off?’
He rolled over, saw the matted hair on his belly, there was flab.
‘Just tired,’ he said. ‘Up early.’
She said nothing for a while, reached for her gown, rose like a mantis, no effort. ‘Take a shower, we’ll eat.’
Villani was towelling his hair when his phone rang.
‘Dad.’
Corin.
‘Yes, love. What?’
‘I’m a bit spooked. There’s a car hanging around.’
The fear. In his stomach, in his throat, instant bile in his mouth. ‘Hanging around how?’ he said, casual.
‘Drove past as I got home, two guys. Then I took the bin out and it’s parked down the street. I went out just now and it was gone and then they came around the block and parked further up.’
‘What kind of car?’
‘They all look alike. New. Light colour.’
‘Won’t be anything, but lock up, be on the safe side. I’ll get someone to come around, I’m on my way. Twenty minutes max. Ring me if anything happens. That clear?’
‘Sir. Right, yeah. Thanks, Dad.’
His precious girl. Thanking him as if he were doing her a favour. He speed-dialled, spoke to the duty person, waited, heard the talk on the radio.
‘Car four minutes away, boss,’ said the woman.
‘Tell them I’ll be there in twenty, hang on for me.’
Anna was at the kitchen end of the big room, hair up, barefoot, thin gown. She turned her head.
Villani walked across the space, stood behind her.
‘Prime rump strips,’ Anna said. ‘To build strength.’
There was an awkwardness. Villani wanted to pull her against him. ‘Prime rump’s cost me my strength,’ he said. ‘I’ve got to go. Urgent stuff.’
She stirred the wok. ‘Slam bam.’
He tried to kiss an ear, she moved, he kissed hair. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘This is probably all a mistake.’
‘Let’s not do this as tragedy,’ she said. ‘Just a screw.’
‘You should have gone to the play.’
‘It’s on for a month. You, on the other hand, could close at any time.’
‘You should probably consider me closed,’ he said, a wash of relief, walked, gathered his coat from the sofa without breaking stride. At the front door, he could not stop himself looking back, down the gunbarrel. He saw the length of her neck.
All across the hot shrieking city, he thought about Corin, the joy of her, the lovely breathing weight of the tiny child asleep on him on a baking afternoon at the holiday house, he rehearsed the selfish pain he would feel if anything happened to her, the responsibility he would bear for having a job where animals hated you, dreamed of revenge, would kill your family.
In Carlton, at the Elgin intersection, he spoke to her.
‘There’s something happening out there,’ she said. ‘Cars.’
‘The force is with you. Stay inside, I’m a couple of minutes away.’
Turning into the street, he saw the cars, pulled up behind them. A uniform came to his window.
‘Couple of dickheads, boss,’ she said. ‘The one’s separated from his missus, she’s renting number 176 down there, he reckons she’s rooting his brother. So him and his mate, they sit in the Holden sipping Beam, now both pissed, they’re waiting for the poor bloke to arrive.’
‘Wasted your time then,’ said Villani.
‘Definitely not, boss,’ said the woman. ‘So many loonies around. These idiots, we give them a scare. The car’ll be here till tomorrow. Going home in a cab.’
Villani parked in the driveway, went in the back door. Corin was waiting, anxious face. He told her.
‘Sorry, Dad.’
He kissed her forehead, she put up a hand, rubbed the back of his head.
‘Sorry is the day you don’t call me,’ he said. ‘Jesus, it’s hot.’
Corin said, ‘You think kind of, your dad’s a cop, you’re bulletproof.’
‘You are. Just a car in the street.’
‘Yeah. Dumb. Eaten?’
‘Not recently, no.’
‘TCT suit?’
‘TCT and O. Shavings of O.’
‘If there’s an O. You grate the cheese.’
Like old times, girl and dad, in the kitchen, side by side, Villani buttering bread, grating cheddar, Corin slicing a tomato, an onion. Not looking, she said, ‘Damp hair.’
Villani felt his hair. ‘Showered,’ he said. ‘Long day. A sweaty day.’
‘You shower at work?’
‘Often. Head of Homicide has to be seen to be clean.’
Corin said, quickly, ‘Sam in my tute, he works a shift at this place, he says you were there with a woman.’
‘He knows me?’
‘Saw you on TV.’
‘Canadian criminologist,’ Villani said. ‘She’s got a grant to study Commonwealth police forces. Beats being interviewed in the office.’
An elaborated lie. Too much detail. These porkies usually fell over when you stared at the teller for ten seconds.
Corin went to the sink.
‘Sam says it was Anna Markham, the television woman. It was after midnight.’
‘There is a resemblance,’ he said. ‘Now that you mention it.’
‘Dad. Don’t.’
‘Don’t what?’
‘Lie to me. I’m not a kid.’
‘Listen, kid,’ said Villani. ‘It was nothing.’
‘What about you and Mum?’
‘Well, it’s difficult, a difficult time.’
‘Don’t you love her anymore?’
Corin was twenty-one, you could still ask a question like that.
‘Love’s not just the one thing,’ he said. ‘There’s love and there’s love. It changes.’
In her eyes he saw that she had no idea what he was saying. ‘Anyway,’ he said. ‘Where’s Lizzie?’
‘Supposed to be staying with a friend for the weekend.’
‘See her today?’
‘Heard her. She was in the bathroom when I left. When did you last see her?’
Villani couldn’t remember exactly. Guilt, there was always guilt. ‘Few days ago. Where’s your mum this time? I forget.’
‘Cairns. A movie.’
‘Never worked out why these people have to take their own caterer. Don’t they cook in Cairns? Just raw fruit?’
‘You should spend more time together,’ said Corin.
Villani pretended to punch her arm. ‘Finish law first,’ he said. ‘Then the grad-dip marriage counselling.’
He ate his toasted sandwiches in front of the television, reading the Age. Corin lay on the sofa, files on the floor, taking notes. With the plate on his lap, he fell asleep, waking startled when she took it from his hands.
‘Bed, Dad,’ she said. ‘You’ve got to get more sleep. Sleep and proper food and exercise.’
‘The holy trinity,’ said Villani. ‘Goodnight, my darling.’
IN THE lift, Birkerts joined him. ‘I saw the lay pastor of the Church of Jesus the High Achiever sharing a moment with Mr Kiely the other day,’ he said. ‘Possibly planning a lunchtime bible-study group.’
‘At least Weber shows me some respect,’ said Villani.
‘He probably prays for you,’ said Birkerts. ‘Could lay hands on you, whatever that means.’
‘I want to encourage prayer,’ said Villani. ‘I want people to pray not to be transferred to Neighbourhood Watch Co-ordination.’
‘There’s a few here who don’t mind kneeling before the right man.’
‘Got nothing against Catholics,’ said Villani.
In his office, Villani checked the messages, summoned Dove.
‘How you going?’ said Villani. ‘Your health.’ He didn’t much care but you were supposed to be concerned. Dove was the force’s first indigenous officer shot on duty.
Dove rolled his shaven head, hand on neck. ‘Fine,’ he said. ‘Boss.’
‘Headaches?’
‘Headaches?’
‘Get headaches?’
‘Sometimes. I had headaches before. Sometimes.’
‘It says,’ said Villani, ‘it says headaches are a common post-traumatic stress symptom.’