Wyatt - 04 - Cross Kill (6 page)

Wyatt walked south toward the city,
then down onto Elizabeth Street. He would be able to catch a tram to the hotel
from there. They wouldnt be expecting him to do that. They would be expecting
him to go deeper to ground.

* * * *

Nine

Shortly
after Wyatt had left via the back fence, cops were pounding on the front door.
At first Eileen thought the two factors were connected, but it was her son they
wanted. She knew it would be a waste of time asking to see a warrant. The local
jacks had it in for the Rossiters. She herself had served six months in Fairlie
for receiving. Ross had done time for armed robbery all over AustraliaBoggo
Road, Long Bay, Wacol. Leanne had been lumbered with a community order when she
was just seventeen. Last year Niall had served six months in Pentridge for
burglary and assault.

And now they were threatening to
chuck the book at the poor little bugger. She leaned forward across the table. An
offensive weapon? You must be joking. Not Niall.

They were in the kitchen, and it
seemed to be full of cops. One stood behind her chair, another behind Rosss, a
third behind Nialls. Thank God Leanne and the kids werent here to see this.

Weve had complaints.

It was the local sergeant, Napper, a
spongy, beer-fed man with a ginger moustache who uttered soft grunts from time
to time. Eileen had seen him off-duty wearing short-sleeved shirts with
polyester trousers that ended well short of his ankles and divided his balls
and the cheeks of his backside.

He drove an unroadworthy Holden ute.
He also had a girlfriend in a flat a couple of streets away. Sometimes youd
see the ute there, sometimes a cop car. Eileen tried her drowsy, wet-lipped
smile on him, for the hell of it. What kind of complaints?

The dog, I bet, Niall said.

Napper smoothed his moustache. That
dog of yours is going to earn you a lawsuit one of these days, Niall old son.
Itll take someones hand off and youll be up for a million bucks in damages.

Hes got instincts. You cant do
anything about that.

You could try tying him up. You
could try cutting his throat.

Niall looked away, muttered, screwed
up his face at the table. Dont rile them, son, Eileen thought.

Napper cupped his ear. Whats that?
Did I hear a threat? A man of violence, are you, Niall old son? Bit of a hard
case?

Eileen looked across at her husband.
The contempt was clear on Rosss face. He folded his arms across his chest. Knock
it off, Napper. Just get on with it.

Fair enough. Wheres the crossbow?

What crossbow?

Napper said, I ask the questions.
What is it, Niall? Do you hate the way your neighbour looks, maybe? You think
hes got no right to park his truck in the street?

Niall made the mistake of
sniggering. Doesnt park it there anymore.

The sergeant straightened, stood
back and nodded at the uniformed men. They left the room. Eileen knew theyd
find the crossbow without any trouble. She hoped it would be all they found.

Napper seemed to be settling in for
the duration. He opened a
Herald-Sun
that had been left on the fridge. You
wouldnt have been circling the funeral notices, would you, Niall? Wouldnt be
thinking of visiting the homes of the bereaved while they were gathered at the
graveside, by any chance? A little drop-kick like you, that would be about your
style. He grinned, his eyes creasing in the folds of his heavy cheeks. He
turned the pages. Looks like another innocent citizen has been bashed and
robbed in his own house. A lot of it about these days. Youd have to be a hard
man to go in against someone just off to bed in his pyjamas, what do you
reckon, Niall old son, old pal?

Dont know what you mean.

Bit of a hotshot, eh, Niall? Bit of
a bully? Like hurting people when theyre down?

Look, Niall said, there are
blokes on your most-wanted list walking around and youre farting around with
me.

He meant Wyatt. Eileen looked across
at her husband and saw a warning, a coldness in him. Ross wasnt a dog, hed
never shop anyone to the cops, and it was a rule he expected the family to live
by.

But Napper wasnt listening to
Niall. You dont like it when somebody else gets the upper hand, do you, pal?
You turn to water, you lie down and roll on your back and give them everything
they want, dont you, matey?

Eileen watched her son flush. Take
it easy, son, she warned.

Niall ignored her. Youll fucking
get yours, Napper. I want a lawyer.

A lawyer? Napper said, open-faced,
amused, getting ready to play with that idea. Eileen prepared herself to
intervene again, but Niall was saved from his tongue when the uniforms came
back into the room. One of the young constables was carrying the crossbow.
Eileen looked at Rossiter, frowned, a way of telling him to
say something.

Rossiter said, Look, the boys a
bit hot-headed but hed never hurt no one. Give him a go. Ill have a word with
the bloke next door, buy him a beer, patch things up. Niall will apologise, wont
you, son?

No one listened. Napper moved behind
Nialls chair. He put his hands on the boys shoulders. Niall Rossiter, I am
arresting you on charges of threatening behaviour and possession of an
offensive weapon. You will be taken to the local station, formally charged, and
placed before a magistrate.

He went on to read Niall his rights.
Then a constable placed cuffs on him and led him outside. Eileen felt a
heaviness settle in her heart. She knew it could be a day or two before she saw
her son again. Napper would see to it that her boy would be denied bail, be
remanded in custody. It would end up destroying him. Niall didnt have the hard
edge of men like her husband, men like Wyatt. Niall had come out of his six
months in Pentridge last year sly and vicious, but it was an act. There was a
permanent flinch about his head, eyes and shoulders that she hadnt seen in him
before, and it had broken her heart. She hated to see it, hated to think what
another sentence would do to him.

* * * *

Ten

It
all took time but later that day Napper, smooth and practised, was arguing that
Niall Rossiter was an unacceptable risk. The magistrate bought it, as Napper
knew he would. Remand. It gave Napper a good feeling.

On the way home he stopped off at
Tinas flat. There was no answer so he used his key and showed both constables
through to her kitchen. There was beer in the fridge. They stayed long enough
to drain a stubbie each then went back out to the car. It made an impression
parked there in the narrow street among the dinky Hondas and Corollas. Cold,
white, the snarling black number on the roof, the malevolent red and blue
lights. It really gave the locals the shitsteachers, legal-aid lawyers,
students, vegetarians. Napper eased his bulk into the drivers seat and they
squealed out of there.

His desk at the station sat in the
centre of a cluttered room. There were several other desks, all like his. The
men he shared with were laughing in the far corner, by the frosted windows. A
CIB sergeant called, Hey, Nap, check this.

Napper crossed the room. A set of 8
x 10 glossies had been laid out on a bench top. They showed a young male,
white, naked, slumped low in an armchair, one hand apparently in the act of
pumping his penis, the other curled near a skin magazine. The mans face was
distorted, bulging above the nylon rope that bound his neck and went on up to a
hook in the wall. There was a Turkish rug on the floor, rucked by the mans
heels as he spasmed in death. Napper examined the photographs, then looked up.
The others were waiting, grinning. Napper wouldnt let them down. Did he come?

The CIB man slapped his back. Strangled
before he could shoot his load.

They snickered and looked at the
pictures again. Poor bastards parents found him, the CIB man said. Want us
to find the murderer.

Nappers head shake said you wouldnt
credit the ignorance of parents and he went back to his desk. He opened a file
and the telephone rang. It was his solicitor, with news that threatened to ruin
Nappers day. What do you mean, theyve got the right?

Just what I said, the solicitor
replied. Under law theyve got the right to divert tax refunds to meet back
payments owed by the husband.

Napper directed a hot and bitter
look along the line. How? Tell me that.

The Child Support Agency has
revenue-collecting powers through the Taxation Office.

Bastards, Napper said.

He stared moodily at a picture of
the Queen. She was fly-spotted. Things were falling apart there, too, except
your royals werent strapped for cash like he was. I love my kid, he said
into the receiver. Id never let her go without. I was late, thats all.

Nap, the solicitor said, I warned
you what could happen. Next time theyll be much tougher. Thereve been cases
of the Agency obtaining court orders for the sale of assets to meet back
payments. They could make you sell your house, your car . . .

Bastards, Napper said again. His
voice grew harsh. Look, I paid her five hundred bucks the other day.

But you owe her nine thousand. Theyre
not going to wear that.

I havent got it. I cant earn it.
I drive a fifteen-year-old Holden ute, for Christs sake. Have another go. Show
them some figures.

The solicitor was doubtful. Ill do
what I can, but there comes a point when you cant massage the figures any
further. Like I said, theyve taken greater powers on board. Next thing you
know theyll have the power to freeze bank accounts. Last month they subpoenaed
some blokes Visa card statements. Turns out while he was crying poor to the
Child Support Agency, he was dipping his wick in some brothel twice a week.

Napper wasnt interested in the
sordid lives of other non-custodial fathers. Do what you can, he said, and
hung up.

For a while, ten minutes, he stared
at his files. At 3.30 he went to the locker room, changed into stretch,
stonewashed jeans and flanelette shirt, and signed off duty. He had to get a
couple of the boys to help him push-start the ute. By 3.45 he was in a Fitzroy
side street, field-glasses clamped to his eyes.

There she was, his little darling,
at the edge of the pool, eight years old and slipping in and out of the water
like a frog in her red Speedos. She was doing backflips and bellyflops with a
couple of other little frogs, happy and tireless, in and out, in and out. It
brought a lump to his throat.

Napper lowered the field-glasses and
Roxanne became just a tiny red flash in the general scenerya small park, a
cyclone fence, sunbathers on the lawn, the kiddies wading pool, the main pool
beyond it. His ex-wife brought Roxanne here every afternoon after school. It
hadnt taken Napper long to establish that. Anyway, you cant stop a bloke from
looking at his own flesh and blood. He raised the glasses again and felt his
heart clench. Roxie had hurt herself. She was standing, head bent, and her
little mates were crouched around, and the world and Napper were focused on her
right knee. But then she grinned and everything was all right again.
Aqua
Profonda,
said the sign at the end of the pool.

Napper sat back and drained a can of
Fosters. The ute cabin was a hot placethe sun on the glass, the exhaust pipe
showing through the rust holes in the floor. Out on Alexander Parade the
traffic was building up, pouring toward the freeway. Only four oclock, but
already bastards were going home. Not for the first time did Napper tell
himself the country was getting slack.

And there had to be something wrong
with a system that allowed a woman to bleed her ex-husband dry and still not
let him see the kid hed fathered. Napper closed his eyes, blocking out the
poisonous shit theyd heaped on him in the Family Court. For two bucks hed
jack it all in and bum around overseas for the rest of his life. He thought
about it: golden beaches, a glassy sea, topless birds speaking French and
Italian, long cold drinks under a Cinzano umbrella. Except that wasnt exactly
bumming around. It would require cash and he didnt have it. He didnt even
have enough to keep his kid in Weeboks, the style his ex-wife had accustomed
her to.

Napper raised the glasses for a last
look at his daughter. Her shoulder-blades, her funny little poddy stomach, her
long legs: God, he could practically feel her squirming and rubbery in his
arms.

4.15. The kids disappeared into the
changing room. Napper was leaning forward, turning the ignition key, listening
for life in the battery, when women surrounded his ute, snapping wet towels at
the sorry, sun-blasted blue duco. Napper couldnt believe it. He edged his
stomach under the steering wheel and got out. What the fuck are you doing?

Pervert, the women said.

The ring-leader was his ex-wife and
she had got the other mothers worked up. They said, Pervert, pervert, and
snapped their towels. Napper put up a meaty hand. Back off, or Ill have you
in the lockup so fast your headsll spin.

Oh, big man, the women said,
dropping into hoarse baritones.

Come on, Josie, Napper said. Give
me a break.