After Ariel: It started as a game (4 page)

‘Hey, how are you?’ I noted the circles under her eyes. Amanda, a youth counsellor probation officer, was heavily pregnant and should have been on leave some time ago, a fact which appeared to have escaped her husband. Aloysius insisted that she needed to stay on a
bit
longer, ‘to keep her busy.’
More likely he wants to pick up gossip from here...
I held my tongue with difficulty because Amanda has a tendency to shoot messengers.

She smiled wanly. ‘You’ll be happy to know I’m on leave from today. Don’t know what Loy will say though.’

 ‘He’ll just have to wear it.’
Suck it up, Al, you prick.
‘So, you want to have lunch one day next week?’

Her face brightened. ‘Love to! By the way, I heard they got Winslow again.’ Word travelled fast in the Force. Amanda rolled her eyes and her shoulders slumped. As Grant’s court-appointed counsellor, she knew his life of crime would escalate, as would her workload.

‘Yep! Zeus got him by the backside.’

‘How come?’ Police dogs normally go for the arm.

‘He scrambled up the side of a dumpster and they thought he was going to jump onto the wall behind it. So did the dog.’ Reluctantly, she laughed.

A thunder of corporate-looking ‘teenage’ detectives swept past, pub-light in their eyes. Amanda watched them go, shifting from one foot to the other. Getting the message, I made a move. ‘Okay, I’ll phone. Better get upstairs and fill out my report, then get home. David might be there before me tonight.’

The CIB room, normally chaotic, was pretty much deserted. No recent murders, but we all knew that could change in the flick of an eye. Evan had beaten me upstairs and I could hear him scuffling around in his corner at the far end. He was taking up a position in a couple of weeks as Senior Sergeant at a country town and looking forward to it. Genevieve, his wife, made no secret of the fact that she hated the city and wanted their four children to be brought up in a rural town.

Anxious to leave work before I got caught up by another case, I dived into my miniscule office, booted up my computer and commenced my Sig Event. There were few things which I could thank my mother for when I was young, but insisting I learn to type –’You’ll always have a job, Susan’– was one. It didn’t take long to fill the details in and sign off. Gathering up my handbag and briefcase, I made to leave.

Evan is a comfortably-padded, great bear of a man with kind brown eyes and a shock of receding dark brown hair. He straightened a pile of papers in his hands. ‘I’m going to miss you a lot –’ he glanced around the cluttered room – ‘and the rest of the team. How’s Anthony Hamilton shaping up?’ He dumped the papers on his desk and grabbed his jacket off the chair.

‘Good, and looks the part, too.’

Evan had been on short leave and hadn’t yet met his replacement. I knew he felt guilty at what he saw as desertion after so many years of our working together.  ‘And how old is he?’ Evan asked, as we turned for the lift.

‘Early thirties, built like the proverbial brick you-know-what. He looks like a Russian assassin – in fact “the Assassin” is his nickname already.’

Evan laughed. ‘So, able to leap tall buildings at a single bound, then? Glad
he’s
watching your back then! I can’t wait to get home. It’s Genevieve’s birthday tomorrow and I’ll be in the doghouse if I miss it again.’

‘Well, you’ve no excuse this time. We’re both going home early for once!’ I pulled a gaily wrapped gift of perfume out of my bag. ‘Here’s a little something for Gen. I’m so sorry I can’t wish her a happy birthday in person this year.’

He took it with evident pleasure. ‘Gen knows you’re On Call from tomorrow arvo, Susan. No worries!’

‘Hope we don’t get a job. I would have loved to have gone to Pamela Miller’s concert tomorrow night, but
them’s the breaks!

I swung onto the road, heading for the western suburbs where David, my husband, and I were living. Around me the desperate evening traffic mounted up. I turned on the radio, humming along with Classic Drive. I couldn’t wait to get back to the large, old double-storey house which David and I rented in lieu of our home in the country.

Some people thought I was mad when we announced that we were getting married to each other for the second time. ‘It didn’t work the first time. You’re a glutton for punishment, aren’t you?’ said friends, trying to caution me without overstepping the mark. My Edwardian-raised mother of Irish descent – which made her more Irish than the Irish and who doesn’t know there
is
a mark – snorted and said she hoped none of her friends would find out about it. ‘Really Susan, how will it look? ’and ‘If he left you once, he’ll do it again and this time you won’t find anyone else. You’re no chicken you know. Holy Mother of God, girl, you must be quite mad!’

My father, rigorously trained not to say too much, discreetly pressed a one hundred dollar note into my hand, saying ‘Get yourself something pretty,’ out of the side of his mouth. My younger sister, Melanie, waved a glass of wine under my nose and shouted ‘Go for it, Susan. No forty-three year old man has a right to look as hot as he does, so you’d better grab him back while he’s between wives.’
Thanks, Mel. Good one.

I slumped in my seat, letting the music wash over me, happily anticipating my arrival home and being with David. A sudden movement in the car next to mine startled me. The driver – a gormless city type – was making moués at me, while talking on his mobile phone. Realising my plain clothes disguised my calling I fumbled for my wallet, snagged my ID out and held it up for him to see. The phone vanished as he snapped his gaze back to the front.

The sun was going down in pink and orange glory, leaving soft dusk to soothe the final few kilometres to home. I turned into the beautiful, tree-lined street and then in by our letterbox, looking for lights glowing at the end of the long, narrow driveway. If he was home first, David would pour me a large glass of wine as soon as he heard my car pull into the garage.

The scent of Mock Orange greeted me as I struggled from the car, gathered up my bag and briefcase and closed the roller door. Our dogs and two cats made walking across the verandah difficult, bumping my knees and looking for pats. I pulled up short at the kitchen door. Something simmered on the stove. Mug in hand –
no wine
? – David stood watching the back door, a bulging duffle bag on the floor beside him. Cold flickered throughout my limbs. Thus had Harry stood, surrounded by his luggage the morning he left for good.

‘David? What’s happening?’ My voice came out in a squeak.

He stepped toward me, a concerned look on his face. ‘What’s the matter, Susan?’ Words froze in my throat. David is nothing if not intuitive. ‘Did you have a déjà vu moment there?’ Without waiting for me to answer, he swept me into his arms. ‘I’m not leaving you, sweetheart. Well, not forever.’ He kissed the top of my head.

I pulled back and looked up at him. ‘What do you mean you’re not leaving me forever?’

‘I’ve been seconded to Toowoomba. Start in the morning.’ It was then I realised he was dressed in his oldest jeans, T-shirt and work boots. His favourite black leather jacket lay on the chair nearby.

My heart sank. Before I could comment, my mobile phone rang. I was tempted to ignore it, but David gestured to my bag and took a sip of tea, watching me steadily over the rim of his mug. Sighing with frustration, I up-ended my vast shoulder bag, a repository for many superfluous things, onto the kitchen table.
I can’t go back to work right now, I just can’t.
I caught my mobile before it skittered off the flat surface and onto the floor.

‘Hi Ros!’ The relief in my voice must have been evident.

‘You sound very pleased to hear from me!’

‘Yes, I thought I might be called out on a job.’

‘I’m glad it’s me then,’ she countered with a smile in her voice, ‘and how are you and that luscious David?’

I glanced at David and then down at the bag by his feet. ‘He’s still luscious and fine and so am I.’

 I was about to pull out a chair and sit down when he glanced at his watch and then looked at me with a, ‘Make this quick, I need to talk to you,’ expression.

‘How are you both?’ I couldn’t just bundle my friend off the phone before she had time to tell me what she wanted.

‘We’re okay, but that’s what I need to talk to you about, but I don’t want to intrude on your free time...’

Guilt flushed through me. My job constantly prevented me from keeping up with family and friends. ‘What’s wrong? Is everything all right? Is it Pam? Or the cows?’

‘Don’t worry, nothing’s wrong with Pam
or
the cows, Susan. Is there any chance of you getting down here in the near future?’

Bearing in mind David’s obvious travel plans, my first instinct was to say ‘No, I’m sorry,’ but something in her voice alerted me to trouble. Suppressing a sigh, I replied as brightly as possible. ‘Actually, I’m not on call until tomorrow arvo so I can be with you for morning tea, unless something drastic happens.’ The relief in her voice made me glad I had stifled my longing for a half day home.

David stepped to the sink to rinse his mug, glancing significantly at me as he towelled it dry. I refused to be hurried.

‘How can I thank you? Will David come too?’

I swung around to face the wall. ‘No, David can’t come, I’m afraid. I didn’t have anything planned beyond some gardening, so I can get there about ten. Will that do?’

Amid a flurry of ‘Thank yous,’ Ros said goodbye.

I closed my mobile and turned to face David. A waft of his aftershave engulfed me as he stepped close and wrapped his arms around me, crushing my nose into his sweater. He held me tightly and rested his cheek on my hair. We stood like that for some minutes before he put me away from him and gazed down into my face. ‘You surely didn’t think I was actually
leavin
g you? Not a chance!’

Tears welled in my eyes, but I put on my “I’m just fine” woman-face. Not noticing anything untoward, David continued. ‘Well, as I said, I’m seconded to Toowoomba, me and Peter Moffatt. He’s picking me up at midnight because we start early tomorrow.’

‘Peter Moffatt? From Covert Ops? David, just what are you getting into here? Are you going undercover?’ Fear flashed through me.

‘ Just secondment, Susan, nothing more. It’s all organised.’ He ran his hand through his hair in a familiar gesture that showed he was excited, damn him. He wouldn’t say – wasn’t allowed to tell even
me
– but like a police wife, not to mention, a police officer, I
know
when my husband is keeping something from me.

‘Just how long do you think you’re going to be up there?’ I’d bet he was putting himself in danger and he didn’t seem to give a damn for his safety. For all I knew, he could be infiltrating anything from animal abusers to drug dealers. “Furious” didn’t begin to describe how I felt.

He frowned. ‘Probably a week or so.’

‘What squad are you seconded to?’

‘Filling in at Major Crime.’

I stroked his arm to soften my stance, but fear crept through me. ‘Filling in, eh? Pull the other leg that whistles. How are you getting wherever it is you’re going? Are you driving up?’  

‘Driving with Pete. I’m going to miss you!’ He wriggled his eyebrows, but his naughtiness failed to divert me. No one knows better than a cop that things can go awfully wrong within seconds on the street, especially if undercover. I had only a few hours to keep him close to me and so help me, I wanted to kill him. What if the worst happened and I lost him just as I had found him again? And the girls had just gotten to know their father. How would they cope if...?

David is nothing if not an experienced husband; after all, our second marriage to each other is the third try for both of us! ‘So what does Rosalind want to see you about?’ As a diversion, it worked for the moment.

‘She wants to talk to me about something personal. The house and the animals are fine, so that’s one worry off my mind, but there’s something wrong, I can feel it.’

‘Is John going to be there?’ John Glenwood, widower and retired policeman married our friend six months previously and we have never seen her so happy. ‘I expect he will be,’ I answered absently, as I took a box of Chateau Cardboard out of the fridge and poured myself a glass of white. David shook his head when I gestured with the cask, apologised for not getting me one and sat at the table, twirling his thumbs. He’s nervous and knows that I know what he’s up to.

 ‘Say hi to him for me, will you?’

 ‘Yes.’

‘So, hold the fort and give my love to the girls.’

‘Of course But aren’t you going to keep in touch with them yourself?’

‘No time. I’ll ring them when I get up there.’  He stepped forward and took me in his arms again. ‘We’ve only got a few hours,’ he muttered into my hair. I held him tightly as a wave of love and terror swept over me. I wished I could actually climb inside his skin, trap him there, and feign illness – anything to keep him with me.

CHAPTER 4

A Little Night Music

Ariel

Friday, 6PM

If someone had asked her what she would do on her last night on earth, Ariel may well have rolled her eyes, giggled and said, ‘Listen to Miley Cyrus while, like, kissing red hot abs!’ In one respect, she would have been spot on.

Ariel’s parents always said they could read her like a book and trusted her implicitly. Why wouldn’t they? She’d never given them any reason to doubt her word and all nefarious activities were carefully hidden. Streetwise and game for anything, she knew her parents would be shocked if they realised what she and her friends got up to when she went clubbing, but she could do anything she liked with her own money, couldn’t she? Working at Dymocks was boring and the money not much good, but she’d put her name down for Woolworths until the start of next year’s technical college courses.

Calls were always forwarded to her mobile while she was clubbing but this time she was meeting a bloke, moreover one she didn’t really know. She felt just a little bad about deceiving them, but it was the only way. Then it came to her. They would buy fish and chips and come back here so she wouldn’t
have
to lie!