Authors: Ainslie Paton
They came for him too quickly. Two uniformed cops, buzzing the gate. Not what he expected. Not Alan. Not another negotiator sent to make him conform.
He let them in and met them in the doorway. He put his hand out to shake. “Can I help you?”
The only person who knew about the house was Foley.
The female took his hand and they shook. “I'm Constable Robins and this is Constable Gianapolis. Are you Patrick Drum?”
He tensed at the use of that name. The only person who knew it was Foley.
“We'd like to ask you a few questions. We think you might be able to help us. It's important.”
She'd given him up. It shouldn't have burned like betrayal because he'd given her no choice.
He eyed the cops. Already game playing; one soft and easy, one remote and hard. Both looking beyond him into the foyer. “Go ahead.”
“Look, it would be better if we went to the station.”
Drum folded his arms. “We can talk here.” He could clear this up. It wasn't a police matter, but Foley couldn't have known that.
“Is this your house, mate? You normally live in a cave, right?” The male cop had an aggressive tone.
“What is this about?”
“We'd like to talk down the station, Patrick.” Robin's had more sense.
“Call me Drum. What's this about?”
“We'll talk at the station. We can get you a hot drink, that'd be good, right? Something to warm you up.” But not that much more sense.
“I'm homeless. I'm not a halfwit. What is this about?”
Robins almost laughed. She was young and picking up a homeless guy was a job given to baby cops. The other one spoke, made a gesture with his arm and jangled his car keys. “Come on, Mr Drum. We really do need your help down at the station.”
Now he was Mr Drum. He almost laughed too. “If you're arresting me, I'd like to know what for?”
“We're not arresting you,” said Robins.
“Then there's no reason for me to go anywhere. We can talk right here. I'm happy to help with your enquiries.”
The way the two of them changed how they were standing, a certain readiness; if he wasn't under arrest, it was close. He could make a fuss, make them work for this, but Foley had done this and he needed to see it through for her. He went with them in the police car.
At the station he got hot coffee and a sandwich. He got left in an interview room for hours. And then got two detectives: Pagonis and Toshber. Pagonis smelled of smoke and needed a shave. Toshber probably played netball. She had cankles and thin hair. Were they deliberately giving him mixed pairs?
Toshber took the lead, like Robins had, but she wasn't a junior, so this wasn't some dumb misunderstanding.
“Mr Drum, Patrick, that's your full name?”
“It's all you need.” They had no idea who he was. What did they think he'd done? What did Foley think he'd done?
Toshber scratched her head. “Would you state your full name for us, please?”
“Happy to, once I know why I'm here.”
She sighed. “We'll get to that.”
“Am I under arrest?” That was almost laughable, given what he'd done was entirely legal and no court in the world would charge him with anything more severe than loitering on public property.
“That's up to you at the moment.”
He sat back in his chair and regarded them. “I'm either under arrest or I'm not.” He watched them for a reaction and got professional poker faces. “Or you're holding me until you can work out if I've done whatever you think I've done.”
“We just have a few questions.”
So that's what they were doing, waiting for whatever answers he gave them to create his guilt. “Then ask them. I've said I'd co-operate.” He had guilt to build a monument to. If these cops rightfully owned some of that, they'd find out together.
“But you won't give us your name. That's not very co-operative in my book.”
Drum laughed. “About now, you're supposed to look at your partner so the two of you can collude.”
Toshber smiled. “TV cop shows have a lot to answer for.” She glanced at Pagonis who looked amused and shrugged.
“So I've been told.”
“That's right. You live on the cliff at the beach. You're famous. But we found you at a house on Tamar Street today. Who owns that house?”
They'd likely already know. They had access to council records, they knew who paid the rates and kept the lights on. The Benny Browning Trust. And if he gave them his name they'd know just how famous and for what.
“Someone I used to know owns the house. He lets me use it. I'm a homeless guy called Drum. That's who you picked up. What is it you think I know?”
He was still only a homeless guy, they didn't know anything, he hadn't been found and he had a chance to keep it that way.
“It's just a formality to start with your name.”
“Hmm. Let's wait and see if my lawyer agrees with that.” A bluff, if he needed a lawyer, he'd need his rightful name again.
They exchanged a look. Toshber said. “Oh, you don't need a lawyer. You're just being a good citizen and helping us with an investigation.”
He still wasn't under arrest, but he was in serious trouble. “Now who's been watching too much TV. My name is Drum.”
“Okay.” Toshber smiled showing lipstick on a Bugs Bunny front tooth. “We can work with that.”
He nodded. From here it would get tricky. Everything up to here was babysitting, everything after was pre-sentencing.
“Do you like to read?” she asked.
“Yes.”
“What do you like to read?”
It was on the tip of his tongue to say, if I tell you
Fifty Shades of Grey
will you think worse of me, but his objective was to get out of here, clean and free as soon as possible. “Whatever I can scrounge up cheaply.”
“Classics?”
“Some.”
“Have you read
Of Mice and Men
?”
“Yes. Have you?”
“I'm a sci-fi fan.” She eye-rolled and Drum was supposed to laugh, warm to her. He didn't react.
“What size shirt do you take?”
“So this investigation is specifically about me?”
“No, these are preliminary questions.”
“Preliminary questions wouldn't normally pertain to my reading habits or clothing size.”
Toshber repeated, “Pertain,” and Pagonis coughed into his hand.
Drum continued. “Like I told Constable Robins and her partner, I'm homeless, I'm not without an education.”
Another look was exchanged and Pagonis took over. “
The Courier
reported you've been on the cliff for more than a year.”
“That's right.”
“Why?”
“I like it. It suits me.”
Pagonis scratched his jaw. “Okaaay.”
Toshber said, “I buy clothes for my husband, you'd be an XL or an XXL.”
“I'm whatever size I can get cheaply that fits.”
“I see, of course. Do you have a girlfriend?”
He stiffened. “What is this about?” God, had something happened to Foley?
“I'm guessing you do. What's her name?”
If they knew he knew Foley, they'd be first to mention her. A subtle entrapment was going down.
“Is her name Alison? Alison Villet?”
He shook his head. “I don't know any Alison.” He tried not to show relief, to show anything they could use against him, but whatever happened now it couldn't be worse than thinking Foley was hurt or in danger.
“You're sure about that. She knows you.”
“Like you said, I'm famous, lots of people know me.”
Toshber crushed a hint of amusement by folding her lips into her mouth. “Think about it for a minute, Alison Villet.” The lipstick was gone.
“If she's homeless she might go by another name. Does she have another name?”
“No, she's not homeless. You're saying you don't know anyone called Alison.”
Drum narrowed his eyes. “That's what I'm saying.”
“It's a mystery then?” said Pagonis.
He used a tone of voice that told Drum the man thought the only mystery was whether he'd get home in time for dinner after getting a signed confession. “I'm sure you don't think that.”
“We do,” said Toshber, “that's why we need your help. Alison has a shirt and a book she says belong to you.”
“If that's true she's stolen them. Easy to do. I don't have a front door.”
“Wouldn't you know if your things went missing?”
“They did go missing. Someone trashed the cave, took my clothing, broke my furniture, tore and scattered all my books.”
Pagonis frowned. “When did this happen?”
“I don't keep a calendar. I can give you an approximate date.”
“Did you tell anyone about this when it happened?”
Noddy and Blue knew. They'd helped him with the replacement couch. Foley knew. Had she told anyone?
“No.” She was involved in this in some way, but not by his hand.
“All right, we'll come back to that. Alison says you invited her to your cave.”
“I don't know anyone called Alison and I certainly never invited her to the cave.”
“You see, that's where we have a problem. Alison says you met her in Marks Park, invited her to the cave, you talked, you made out and then you sexually assaulted her and beat her, then threatened to throw her off the cliff if she told anyone.”
Drum closed his eyes. This is what Foley thought he'd done. Better that she knew the truth than think this of him, think she'd been in danger with himâthat he might've done the same to her.
“You need to formally charge me and then I'd like to call my lawyer.”
Foley felt sick and it wasn't the return of food poisoning, but that's what she'd told Gabriella. She didn't go back into work. She went home to wait for Nat, to wait for news, to pace around the flat and bite her nails, something she hadn't done since she was in primary school.
If Drum was a rapist, they should castrate him, jail him and throw away the key. If he was a rapist, why hadn't he tried anything with her? Was being a rapist something you could turn on and off, like the internet? Why not? That seemed like a possibility. But he'd been nothing but restrained with her. He never made the first move and he always ended it when things got too intense for him. Surely that wasn't the behaviour of a man who attacked women.
She didn't know if she was lucky or stupid, if he'd been grooming her, or it was all a huge mistake. But he didn't deny it. He didn't even question her, so he had to be guilty.
Still she prayed for it to be a mistake and she hadn't prayed since primary school.
Around 4pm, Nat called. “They've got him.”
“Oh God.” It was what she needed to hear, but it was still a shock.
“They picked him up at the house on Tamar Street. I managed to keep your name out of it. You're my confidential source.”
“That's good, right. What happens now?” They'd find out if he'd done it, they'd release him if it was nothing. But he'd virtually confessed to her, hadn't tried to argue it. She'd seen guilt and shame take over every part of his body till he couldn't stand upright.
“He's in an interview room. That's all I know.”
“You must know something more.” Nat was holding out on her. She had a right to know.
“They're making him wait.” Foley heard Nat's irritation on the line. “They want him nervous. You need to prepare yourself for the worst. You should've stayed at work.”
“I can't concentrate.” It hurt to breath and her head throbbed. “I'll come down. Maybe I can help.”
“Foley, this isn't one of your work events where everyone pitches in. They'll talk to him. If they can, they'll charge him. If it's clear-cut, well ⦔
She didn't have to take instructions from Nat. She could be there as a council representative. “Call me when you know something more.”
Nat didn't call again. She arrived home with Thai food. She was pissed off because radio stations were already running the story, beating her front page out. She wore both earrings. Drum was still at the station. There was no word on whether he'd been formally charged or was being represented by legal counsel. Foley played with her serve of Crying Tiger and went to bed with two headache tablets and no hope of sleeping.
Nat took phone calls from Nathan and her cop sources, and Foley listened in. They were releasing Drum overnight, but he'd be questioned again in the morning. No one thought this was a mistake.
She was at work by 6am, no longer able to be still, needing to find a way to be busy, till she could find a way to understand all this and how she'd been so taken in.
At 9am, she was in the conference room waiting for Hugh and Gabriella. It was time to brief Roger.
Hugh bowled in, coffee in hand. “Ooh, you look dreadful.”
“Thanks.” She aimed for sarcastic but there was a distinct lack of spice in her delivery.
“Why'd you come in? I heard you went home yesterday.”
“I'm feeling better today.” She felt like a horror movie, that inevitable scene where the stupid blonde went outside or into the basement where the evil forces lurked and everyone knew she was a bunch of screams away from dead.
Gabriella drifted in. “Morning.” She had a copy of
The Courier
in her hand. Foley had already seen it, and the smaller pieces in the two metro papers. Morning radio had screamed the story of the homeless man who squatted in a cave with a billion dollar view, arrested for assault.
“Does Foley need to be here?” Gabriella said to Hugh.
Hugh did a back and forth hand gesture, between the two of them. “You two work together, I assume you can sort out who needs to be here without me.”
Foley stood. “I'll go.”