‘Mr Dove.’
‘An indigenous officer who’d now be the only non-bludger on the force,’ said Moxley. ‘What happened to the wound as a ticket to the Gold Coast on full disability pension?’
‘A Homicide officer, professor. We shrug off injuries of all kinds. Who does your media tip-offs? Do them yourself, do you?’
‘I’ve met Inspector Kiely,’ said Moxley. ‘A man with a professional manner. He’s got some education, I understand.’
‘In New Zealand,’ said Villani. ‘Ranks just ahead of the Congo and Scotland.’
He beckoned to Dove, he came.
‘I want you to front up to our media partners,’ Villani said.
‘Human remains.
But until the science is complete, we know nothing. Fuckall.’
‘Is that two words, boss?’
Villani saw a pulse in Dove’s right eyelid. ‘What’s wrong with your eye?’ he said.
Dove’s lips tightened over his teeth. ‘Just a tic,’ he said.
‘What’s that, nervous?’
‘There would be nerves involved, boss,’ said Dove. ‘The central nervous system would be involved. In an involuntary way.’
‘Not a brilliant look,’ said Villani. ‘I say that in an involuntary way. Cancel, I’ll do it, Detective Dove.’
Villani went out to the cameras and held the Homicide face, grave, concerned, said what had to be said, the natural order of the universe had once more been overturned.
He turned. Dove’s hand up. He followed him around the house.
‘Found a garbage bag in the pit,’ Dove said. ‘New bag.’
A man in overalls held a big black plastic bag, knotted.
‘Open it,’ said Villani, mouth dry. This bag was not months or years old.
The man put the bag on the groundsheet. Clumsy in gloves, he took a while to get the knot undone. He spread the mouth wide.
‘Gloves,’ said Villani. Someone gave him a pair, he tugged them on.
He lifted out a black dress, put it on the groundsheet. A black bra, tiny black knickers, another bra, more knickers, a cheap Chinese towel, another one, another black dress, one, two, three, four sneakers, cheap ones. A pair of black jeans. A silky shirt, off-white. Nylon zip-up jacket, yellow.
It was in his mind now. The water usage.
Another pair of jeans, blue. Two more blouses. Stockings. More stockings. A white shirt. Nylon jacket, red.
Koenig’s words:
An appendix scar, that’s all I saw.
Another blouse. A nylon toilet bag, blue.
Another toilet bag, green.
Villani put the bag down, picked up a bra and sniffed it. He put it down, sniffed to clear his nose, bent for the second bra, sniffed that, put it down.
He opened the blue toilet bag. Supermarket cosmetics. Perfume, an atomiser, eau de toilette. Poison.
He uncapped it, sprayed the back of his left glove, sniffed. He put the atomiser on the second bra.
Second bag. Same cosmetics. Different atomiser. Taboo.
‘Give me your hand,’ Villani said to Dove.
‘Under duress,’ said Dove. He held out his left hand, palm down.
Villani sprayed it, lifted it, sniffed.
Dove staring at him.
‘Two girls,’ Villani said. ‘Both at Prosilio.’
AT ST KILDA Road, Villani talked to Kiely.
‘Well, we’ve got a fair bit on our plate,’ said Kiely. ‘And this doesn’t have much of a profile.’
‘I want everybody in this establishment not actually engaged in making an arrest,’ said Villani. ‘That’s in the nature of an order.’
‘As you wish,’ said Kiely.
‘Dove and Weber, please.’
They came in, stood in front of the desk.
‘In the time frame we have from the Pommy lady across the road from Prosilio,’ said Villani, ‘on a direct route to Preston, I want every last bit of street vision. Black muscle car, three aerials. Mr Kiely will assign the manpower.’
They both frowned.
‘I want this done with astonishing speed,’ he said. ‘I want a result in hours.’
The men stood. Dove made to speak.
‘Go,’ said Villani. ‘Just go and fucking do it.’
His phone rang.
‘Stevo, Geoff.’
Searle.
Deep breath. Be nice to him. He was not dogshit, from a dogshit family. He was a useful member of society, parasite division.
‘Yes, mate,’ Villani said.
‘This Koenig’s a fucking landmine, mate.’
‘Yes.’
‘But I’ve got another delicate matter here. Free to talk?’
‘I can talk, yes.’
‘Steve, I hear the Sunday Age’s exploding a shit bomb tomorrow.’
‘Yes?’
‘Tony Ruskin. It’s about a senior officer.’
‘Yes?’
‘Guts is, it’s you.’
‘Me what?’
‘Daughter claims abuse.’
Villani heard himself suck air. A time passed, he had the feeling of being outside himself.
‘My daughter?’ he said.
‘That’s right. Youngest daughter. I’m guessing this comes via the welfare. Community Services.’
‘Abuse?’
‘Of a sexual nature.’
‘Come on,’ said Villani. ‘Bullshit.’
‘Haven’t been told she’s done that?’
‘She’s on the street with fucking ferals. Steals from her own family. They can’t run this kind of shit as if…’
‘They can,’ said Searle.
‘They will.’
‘Well. Jesus.’
‘Sit tight,’ said Searle. ‘I’m on the case.’
‘Appreciate that,’ said Villani.
‘No worries. Stick together. Your wife, she’ll be solid, right? Back you to the hilt.’
What to say? ‘Of course. My whole family.’
‘Good. United front, that’s vital. Drug-crazed kid, yeah…Back to you soon, mate.’
Villani sat, holding the phone. Tendons showing in his arm.
How could the little bitch do this? He found his mobile, Laurie’s number. She answered in seconds.
‘It’s me,’ he said. ‘Where are you?’
‘At home.’
‘Stay there. I’m on my way.’
HE PARKED in the driveway behind Laurie’s VW and knocked on the front door. She opened it.
‘What’s Lizzie said to you?’ he said, closed teeth.
Laurie spoke slowly, as if she had lost her English. ‘She called last night, she says she’s scared. To come home. She says. She can’t live here. Because you made her…you abused her.’
‘Abused her. How?’
‘Made her suck you off.’
The day, the time, the heat, where he was, all went away. He had an obstruction in his throat, he tried to clear it.
‘Me?’
‘She’s told them that, yes.’
‘Told who?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Told them what exactly?’
‘You came to her room. Woke her. A number of times.’
‘Jesus,’ he said, he shivered, inside. ‘She’s off her face. How can she do this?’
Laurie looked at him and he saw.
‘Don’t look at me like that, don’t look at me like…say you don’t believe it.’
She said nothing.
‘Say it.’
‘I don’t know what to believe,’ she said. ‘I’m in shock.’
The violence took him captive, he grabbed her shoulders, shook her. ‘You don’t believe her. Fucking say it. Say it.’
She did not resist him, her chin sunk to her chest, and he saw the white skin of her scalp along the parting. All anger left him, he dropped his arms, tried to kiss her head, but she moved away.
‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘I’m sorry. Sorry.’
She backed away, eyes on him. He saw no understanding, saw disbelief. She thought it was possible, thinkable, she could see him doing it. How could that be? How could she not know in her bones that it was impossible?
Laurie turned and walked. He followed her into the kitchen. She went as far as she could go, to the sink.
‘Let’s be clear,’ said Villani, blinking, his eyes were wet. ‘I have never touched that girl in my life except to give her a kiss. I have never gone to her room in the night. I have never made her do anything to me, I would blow my fucking brains out if I had.’