Gunshot Road (23 page)

Playing under lights

THEY'D SET UP A
floodlight. Its yellow arc lit a bleak body lying in a pool of blood. Bunter was standing guard as a tech guy scraped something into an evidence bag. Harley stood back, leaning against a fence and dragging on a smoke.

I got out, glanced at the corpse: a whitefeller, burly and burnt. Face up. Not a face I knew. He had a marine haircut, black jeans, a glistening T-shirt.

I spotted Cockburn standing with a couple of uniforms talking to—talking at—a group of young men. He had them up against the mesh fence, back-up ready in case they bolted. I came up beside him.

‘Sir?'

He was busily scribbling onto a pad, but I felt him tense the moment I opened my mouth. ‘Kind of busy right now, Emily.'

‘Where's Danny?'

‘You oughter be in hospital.'

‘Just want to know what the hell happened.'

I recognised some of the young men: town boys, one or two from the Westside camp, others from the Scorpions, some of them still in basketball gear. Their eyelids flickered and twitched, their fingers tugged and drummed. No sign of Danny.

‘What's happened is that these…
youths
'
—
from the tone of voice,
little black shits
might have expressed his thoughts more frankly—‘were doing what they do best: drinking, fighting and generally fucking up. Only this time it's got out of hand, and an innocent bystander—a white man—has wound up with a knife in the heart.'

I nodded at the buzzcut in the gravel.

‘Who was he?'

‘Still trying to work that out. Someone said he might be a relative of one of the boys in the fight.'

He caught my puzzled expression.

‘There were some white boys involved as well,' he explained. ‘Bit of unfinished business from an earlier basketball match. Most of them scattered before we got here.'

And you only managed to pinch the black ones?

‘But I still don't understand. They told me you'd arrested Danny Brambles…'

‘The boy?' He checked his notes, turned away with a casual click of the tongue. ‘That's right: he's back at the jail now. He was the one who did the stabbing.'

I touched him on the elbow. ‘That's not possible, sir.'

He cast an oblique eye at me: ‘Saw it happen then, did you Emily?'

‘You know I didn't, but I do know the boy. There's no way he could have…'

‘We've got witnesses—one of them a police officer.'

‘It just doesn't make sense. What happened to Bandy?'

‘Who?'

‘His father.'

‘The older bloke? Lost a lot of blood, but they tell me he should survive.'

‘Survive what?'

‘A cut throat.'

‘Shit!' I glanced at the dead man. ‘He did that?'

‘Looks like it.'

‘Pretty enthusiastic innocent bloody bystander.'

‘Well if he was, he's paid the price for it. Now if you don't mind…' He returned his attentions to the detainees.

As I made my way back to the car, I spotted a couple of white boys lurking in the shadow of the grandstand, leaning against the scaffolding and staring at the gravel. I took another look at the nearest of them: shoulder-length blond hair, slim build, athletic. Cockburn's son.

I went across to him.

‘Jarrod.'

He was slow to recognise me. The light was poor, but there was more to it than that: the boy looked like he was in shock.

‘Jarrod? You remember me? Emily. I work with your old man.'

His eyes drifted onto me fleetingly, then flickered across to his father. ‘Course I remember you,' he mumbled. ‘You're the one who…'

‘Did you see what happened here tonight?'

He stared at the ground, his face disappearing in a hank of yellow hair. ‘Not supposed to talk about it.'

‘Who said that?'

‘Dad.'

The other boy—hardscrabble skin, squat, with a peeling red nose—wasn't as reticent. ‘Come on, man, she's with the cops too. Just tell her what you told me.'

‘Dad said…'

‘Jarrod seen it all,' he interrupted. ‘He stabbed him.'

‘Shut up, Crimsy.'

‘Who's “he”?' I pressed.

‘The skinny feller, the one they got locked up; used to play for the Scorps. Danny, is it? There's a bit of a fight going on over at the court, right?—us and the Scorps, nothing much—feller comes over to see what's goin on and Danny just stuck him in the guts…'

‘Emily!' Cockburn's stentorian voice cut into the tale from across the court. I turned around. ‘That's a witness in a homicide you're interfering with there. You want to end up in custody as well?'

I made to respond, then decided against it. I'd heard enough. Crimsy didn't seem all that bright, but nor did he seem a liar. I walked away, my head spinning. It all sounded unreal, horrible beyond words. What the fuck was happening to this town? Was the weather driving everybody out of their minds?

I made my way back to the car, shoulders slumped, eyes downcast. Magpie and Meg were waiting anxiously. A grim-faced Jojo came and joined us.

‘Learn anything?' I asked him.

‘More than I wanted to: looks bad for Danny. And for Bandy, but the paramedics reckon he'll survive.'

‘That's about what I got, too. Cockburn says one of his men saw it happen.'

‘Harley. There was a punch-up after the game; night patrol was trying to break it up. Sounds like the feller was stabbed over behind the grandstand.'

‘None of this makes sense,' I said. ‘Danny kill someone? He's a scrawny fifteen-year-old boy; he'd jump if a clock bonged.'

But I thought about him, the way he'd been in church this morning. The flare in his eyes, the anger and confusion, the deliria. What did I know? I'd been stuffing up everything else of late; no reason I shouldn't have got this wrong too.

I gazed out over the sporting complex: the police moved about, their silhouettes radiating diamond light, their shadows troll-like.

I remembered my promise to Danny: I'd look out for him.

Over by the crime-scene tape, Harley lit up a smoke; I read brutal indifference in the cup of his hands. Bunter scratched his balls and yawned. They did this every night of the week. Cockburn turned to another of the young men; I saw the contempt in his stiff shoulders and military bearing.

Could I entrust Danny's well-being to this lot?

Like hell I could.

Windringers

I SMACKED JOJO ON
the back. ‘Let's go.'

‘Where to?'

‘See Danny.'

But they wouldn't let us. The four of us fronted up at the cop shop, but Griffo was on the desk and he had strict instructions: no access to the public until he'd been interviewed.

‘But I'm not the public,' I argued. ‘I'm one of you, remember? One of us!'

‘You were until you resigned.'

‘Words spoken in haste.'

‘Well, haste makes waste. And believe me, Emily, your career is wasted.'

I placed a hand on his desk. Chose my words carefully.

‘I had just been raped.'

He flinched, looked away.

‘There'll be a formal interview as soon as we can arrange it,' he muttered to the wall. ‘His family'll be allowed access then.'

‘His father's in hospital with a cut throat; his mother's Rosie Brambles.'

Griffo chewed a thumbnail.

‘All I want is a few minutes—he's a mixed-up boy—you can't just throw him in that black bloody hole and forget about him. Anything happens, Griffo, it'll be on your head—I'll make damn sure of that.'

I saw he was wavering, pressed home my advantage. ‘Anyway, nobody's accepted my resignation. I haven't signed anything official. Technically, I'm probably still a member of the force.'

He shuffled some papers, swallowed hard. When I saw him glance at the clock on the wall, I knew I'd won.

‘Five minutes.' He held up his splayed fingers in case I didn't know what five was. ‘And just you.'

He led me through gloomy corridors, took the key from the safe, showed me the cell.

I slid back the hatch. Danny was stretched out on a metal bunk with his back to us, barely visible in the bare bulb's pathetic glow. He was still in the Demons jumper he'd been wearing this morning. The red fabric bunched up around his ribs, seemed to trickle over his skin like a layer of sweat or…

‘Christ, Griffo, he's covered in blood!'

‘From the victim. No injury to him far as I can see.'

‘You could have at least given him a change of clothes.'

‘This isn't bloody K-Mart.'

He opened up, stood in the doorway; I stepped in.

Dirty blue beams of streetlight came splintering in through the bars on the window. Crickets rasped. Distant machinery rattled and buzzed.

‘Danny?' I whispered.

No response. I came closer, saw he was shivering. Not from cold, surely; the cell was stifling, reeked of warm piss and cold puke.

‘Danny?'

I touched his shoulder; he spun round, bewilderment and fear in his eyes. Did he recognise me? Impossible to say, so deep was his trauma.

I followed his gaze: he was staring at Griffo as he loomed in the doorframe, spears of light streaming around the contours of his body.

‘Griffo, couldn't leave us alone, could you?'

‘You know I can't do that Emily.'

I put my cheek up close to the boy, spoke tenderly. ‘Danny, this is Emily. Emily Tempest…'

‘Em'ly?' A whisper from the bottom of the well, but a response. I found his hand, squeezed it: his fingers were like twigs shivering in the wind. ‘You came…?'

‘Course I came. Said I would.'

‘Can we go now?'

‘It's not that simple, Danny.'

Fear flashed through his eyes; his cheeks were gravel stained, streaked with dust and blood.

‘Oh Em'ly, they catch you. Take you by surprise an drag you down.'

‘Who does?'

‘The yungkunu.' The dangerous spirits that haunt the night. ‘Or their shadowmen.' He pulled at my sleeve. ‘They killed my father.'

‘Your dad's fine, Danny. Got cut up in the fight, but he'll be okay.'

He sighed softly, a breath of relief. ‘But it's me they're after.'

‘Who are they?'

‘The white ghosts—Windringers—miners, drivers, muscle men. You never know who they are, where they come from.' He drew me in close, put his mouth to my hair. ‘Emily?'

‘Yes, Danny?'

A tortured whisper. ‘They waitin out there for me now.'

‘There's no one out there, Danny.'

‘No, no, there is. You can hear their voices—them terrible voices. Sound like a bird, like a hawk. Make me shiver.' He gazed up at the window, his eyes convex mirrors, full of stars and bars. I followed his eyeline, saw nothing out of the ordinary, heard less: somewhere a drunk yelled, a truck changed gears.

‘Please, Em'ly.' He was sweating now, his fingers pressing against his temples, his lips taut. ‘Please, can you shut the window.'

Griffo's heavy voice cut in from behind me.

‘Time's up, Emily.'

‘Hang on a minute, Griffo. Can't you see he's upset?'

‘I'd be upset if I'd just killed someone.'

I rounded on him. ‘We don't know what happened back there!'

He shrugged. ‘I didn't see it, half a dozen others did. Super'll be back soon. You can take it up with him.'

Cockburn. Perish the thought: more sympathy for his car than his prisoners.

As I rose to leave, Danny clutched my hand. ‘Emily!'

I leaned back down. ‘Danny?'

‘Please, I need to get out of this place.'

‘I'll do my best.'

‘They'll kill me,' he whispered. The whites of his eyes glimmered.

It just about finished me to leave him there, a poor, frightened kid, half out of his mind. Seeing demons wherever he looked, his ears full of terrifying noise, his fingernails scratching air.

I followed Griffo back down the corridor, my mind working, my resolve hardening.

Since the Retention Dams…

Say the name, Emily. Since Paisley—all sorts of things were hardening inside me.

I watched carefully as he put away the keys then joined the others in reception.

I looked Jojo in the eye. ‘We need to talk.'

Paper wasps

WE WENT OUTSIDE, GATHERED
by the cars.

‘Stonehouse,' I said to Meg. ‘Anybody out there?'

‘Yuwayi. Kitty. Japanangka. Mister Watson. Them Crankshaft boys, Benny and Bernie.'

‘Might be best if you went and waited out there yourselves.'

‘But Danny…'

‘I'll contact Legal Aid first thing in the morning. Try to get him out.' Jojo raised an inquisitive brow and I explained, ‘It'd help if he knew you were out there, waiting.'

‘Them kurlupartu let him go free?'

‘Sure they will. You mob go home now, get some sleep. I'll look out for him.'

It took some persuading, but Magpie and Meg eventually climbed aboard their low-slung motor and drove away.

‘Was that wise?' asked Jojo.

‘For them it was. I want them out of the way.'

‘This isn't some minor infringement—they're saying he killed someone. No way is he going to get bail.'

‘Who said anything about bail?' He tilted his head, narrowed his gaze. ‘Jojo, I need a huge favour.'

He groaned to himself. ‘You're not…?'

‘Distract Griffo.'

‘You are.' He looked to the heavens and rubbed madly at his beard. ‘I bloody knew it. Soon as I saw you coming out of the cell, I knew you were up to something.'

‘Just for a minute.'

‘Emily, do you have any idea what you're suggesting? How many laws you're about to break?' He raised his arms in despair, managed to look like a turkey taking off. ‘Ah, for god's sake, why do I even…? Course you…'

I put up a hand. ‘Wireless.'

He stopped dead. Looked back wearily at the station.

He knew its history as well as I did. The ghosts that had seeped into its woodwork, the improvised nooses, the slipped-while-resisting-arrests. He was a whitefeller, but still. He'd spent a lot of his life running round with our mob.

And he was a good man. Somewhere inside, he would have been asking the same question I was, the question Danny's father had asked: how long would the boy last in that black hole? Before he went the same way as Wireless?

For me of course there was no choice. I'd made a promise.

‘Christ,' sighed Jojo, shaking his head.

‘Park round the back lane.'

‘Nothing's ever simple when you're around.'

‘I don't make these things happen.'

He looked like he was about to argue the point. Then changed tack. ‘I'm coming with you.'

‘No you're not.'

‘Yes I…'

‘Listen, Jojo. Darling. I'd love you to come along, but there's absolutely nothing to be gained by both of us getting in the shit. And frankly—black chick raped in the line of duty, just out of hospital, off balance—what sort of a slap on the wrist am I gonna get?' I saw the questions forming in his eyes. ‘But you, you're a public servant; you'll lose your job. All your work will go to the dogs—and to the fucking foxes, more to the point: think of all your bilbies. Plus I need you here; you can contact Legal Aid, deal with the police. I'll bring him in, but only if it's to hospital. I'll be in touch.'

‘How?' he asked. I knew I'd won.

‘Radio? Pigeon? Smoke signals? I dunno—I'll work something out.'

‘Where'll you go?'

‘Out to Stonehouse, if we get that far. And if this does go pear-shaped…'

‘Pear? It's already gone the full bloody watermelon!'

‘…I'll need somebody
not
in the slammer to keep my spirits and tobacco up. Now what have you got lined up for Griffo?'

He put a finger under his chin, sniffed the air, scanned the dim silhouette of the trees that lined the dry creek bed, thinking hard.

‘Gimme fifteen minutes.'

It took fourteen.

I walked around to the alleyway, found a spot that afforded an excellent view of the station, waited among the shadows.

‘Come on, Jojo, pull your finger out,' I muttered, fearful of Cockburn and crew returning before he did.

I sighed with relief when the Hilux rounded the corner and came schlepping down the alleyway.

I stepped out of the shadows. ‘All okay?'

‘No worries. Chucked in a bit of food, filled your water bottle.'

I peered at the station. All quiet.

‘How long will it take?'

‘They don't put out a timetable.' He must have spotted my frown in the dark. ‘Not very, I don't think.'

‘You better bugger off then. Wander up to the BP, grab a bite to eat.'

‘I'm so not thinking about food right now.'

‘Me neither. Thinking alibis and CCTV.'

I gave him the kiss he had coming, sent him on his way. ‘See you soon, Jojo.'

‘Bloody hope so.'

‘Give my love to Hazel.'

‘Will do.'

‘What did you use?' I called out as he sauntered off down the alleyway.

‘
Ropalidia romandi
.'

‘What?'

‘Paper wasps.'

He was barely out of sight when a strangulated oath came from deep within the bowels of the station, closely followed by another.

And another: ‘Aaaow fuckin Jesus fuck fuck
owww
Christ…'

I heard the front door slam. A burly figure came stampeding out onto the lawn with a surprising grace—more grace than it ever showed on the basketball court—whipped off a shirt, lowered a pair of pants, began slapping and swatting its considerable length and breadth.

I nipped over the fence, disabled the alarm on the back entrance—they'd trusted me with that one—slipped into the building, punched in the pin number I'd noted Griffo using earlier, withdrew the key.

Danny inhaled sharply when I opened the door, exhaled with relief when he saw it was me.

‘You still want out of here, Danny?'

‘Oh, I have to.'

‘Stonehouse?'

He clutched my hand. ‘Anywhere but here…'

I locked the door behind us, replaced the key—the longer we concealed our flight, the better.

We were in the car in one minute, on the road in two.