Cold Justice (20 page)

‘But it makes me wonder,’ Georgie said.

Freya stared out the windscreen before realising that no response was itself a form of response. ‘Mm.’
So very cool, so extremely uninterested.

‘I wonder about what’s really going on, and who knows stuff about the past that they’ve kept to themselves.’

Freya could feel Georgie’s eyes boring into her face. ‘I guess that’s what the police are trying to find out.’

‘I guess they are.’

Georgie’s voice held something that Freya didn’t like at all. She leaned forward and started the engine and turned up the aircon, and down the road the idiot bloke turned back with a look of clear interest.

‘Oh crap,’ Georgie said.

Hooray.

They found the phone in the shopping centre easily. It was attached to a column between a discount store and a supermarket, and an elderly woman in a bright pink headscarf was absentmindedly running her finger around the phone’s buttons as she talked into it.

‘Trying for prints would be a waste of time,’ Murray said.

Ella looked up and around at the ceiling and saw a CCTV bubble down the mall and a sign to centre management just past it.

The receptionist in the management office smiled when they walked in. ‘How may I help you?’

Ella showed her badge. ‘I’d like to speak to your security officer, please.’

‘Certainly.’ The girl called somebody on the phone and the next minute a young woman came into the room.

‘Becka Lawrence, security.’ She shook Ella’s hand then Murray’s.

He smiled at her. ‘How lovely to meet you.’

Ella shot him a look but Becka just nodded. ‘We can talk in my office.’

The office was a tiny space with two chairs. Becka pushed one towards Ella but Ella shook her head. ‘I’m fine.’

Murray sat. ‘Thanks.’

Becka stayed on her feet as well. ‘How long have you guys been cops?’

‘Sixteen years, give or take,’ Ella said.

‘Ten,’ Murray said.

Becka nodded. ‘I’m applying next year. Working on my fitness now.’

This was great. A would-be cop would do everything in her power to help. Ella smiled at her. ‘You’ll get in no worries, I’m sure.’

‘Absolutely,’ Murray said. ‘You look fit enough to apply now.’

Becka glanced his way then back at Ella. ‘So what can I do for you?’

Ella told her what they needed and Becka turned to her computer. ‘This place is good with their camera system.’ The screen showed real-time shots from various cameras throughout the centre. ‘It’s all digital so it’s stored right here for months.’

‘It’s the camera looking onto the public phone near that discount shop,’ Ella said. ‘A triple 0 call was made there on Sunday night at eight forty-one.’

Becka’s fingers flew on the keyboard.

‘Typing’s a good skill for a cop to have,’ Murray said.

Becka nodded briefly. ‘Here it is.’

They watched it in silence. Ella saw a woman walk into view, dressed in a white short-sleeved top and jeans. She had short, dark hair and a dark handbag over her left shoulder. She looked around, first into the supermarket, which was open, then towards the front of the closed discount store. A couple walked past holding hands and she turned her back a little, then stood by the phone a moment without doing anything.

‘Making up her mind,’ Ella said softly.

The woman put her hand on the phone, hesitated again, then lifted the handset and dialled. The timer on the screen clicked over to eight forty-one. Ella felt goose bumps steal up the back of her neck.

She couldn’t see the woman speak, only the way her head moved, how she looked sideways once when somebody crossed the edge of the frame. When she’d hung up, she walked quickly away.

‘Wow,’ Becka said. ‘What did she call about?’

‘The big H,’ Murray said. ‘Homicide.’

Becka’s eyes went wide. ‘She knows who did it?’

‘She knows something,’ Ella said, still watching the screen. ‘Are there cameras in the car park? We need to see if she got into a car.’ Movement at the corner of the frame caught her eye. ‘Was that her again?’

‘Where?’

‘Go back a second.’

Becka did so. Ella stared at the screen. The woman came back across the lower edge and went into the supermarket.

‘Oh my God,’ Becka said. ‘They have cameras everywhere in there.’

‘Let’s go.’

The supermarket security officer was a short and heavy-set man. ‘Dougal,’ he said gruffly, before sinking back into his chair and tugging his woollen vest down over his stomach.

‘We’re after footage of a woman who came in here at eighty forty-five on Sunday night,’ Ella said.

‘She knows something about a homicide,’ Becka added.

Dougal put his fat fingers on his keyboard. ‘Lessee then.’ He clicked through a menu and selected a view of the entrance, running it on fast forward until he neared the time. People straggled in under the camera. ‘Quiet night,’ he said. ‘What’s she wearing?’

Murray described her. Dougal slowed the film further. Ella watched the timer in the corner then focused on the screen.

‘Come on, darlin’,’ Dougal said.

And there she was. Ella felt the goose bumps again.
Her face is visible.
She wasn’t looking straight at the camera but you could see enough.

‘Bewdy,’ Murray said.

Dougal hit a button and froze the screen. He peered closely.

‘One of your regulars?’ Becka asked.

Dougal frowned. ‘Don’t recognise her. You?’

‘Nope.’

No, it couldn’t be as easy at that
, Ella thought.
Of course not.

Dougal skimmed through views from different cameras. They saw her pick up a loaf of bread then go to the eight items or less register.

‘What’s she paying with?’ Ella said.

Please, please, please, EFTPOS, please . . .

Murray squinted. ‘Cash.’

Dammit.

The woman picked up her bread and walked out of shot. Dougal stopped the tape, plugged a USB stick into the computer, clicked and dragged the frames, then handed the stick to Ella. ‘Locked and loaded.’

‘Thanks,’ she said.

Back in the security office, Becka pulled her chair up close to the computer. ‘We have a number of cameras around the car park. I’ll try to find her as she left, probably via the eastern doors because that’s closest to the phone there.’

She hummed as she typed and scanned the screen. Ella held the USB stick loosely in her hand, rubbing her thumb along its edges, as if it was a diamond she would take back to the office and show off.

‘This is her, right?’

Murray leaned close. ‘Yep.’

They watched the woman cross the car park to the driver’s side of a light-coloured sedan, something like a Commodore, then get in and drive away.

‘Can hardly see the plate,’ Becka said.

‘Technical can clean it up,’ Murray said. ‘We might get enough to track her down.’

‘That’s so cool.’

‘It is, isn’t it?’

Murray was practically preening. Ella turned away.

Between the car and the woman’s photo, which they could plaster all over the shopping centre and put in the media as well, they would surely find her. Ella wondered if she was indeed part of this alleged gang of conspirators dedicated to getting Georgie Riley in the shit, or if she really knew something about Tim and when he was found.

In the ambulance cabin the air was cool but the silence was stifling. Georgie had caught Freya casting wary glances her way and now she shot one back at her. ‘What?’ she demanded.

‘What?’ Freya said.

‘You looked like you were about to tell me something.’

Freya shook her head. ‘Don’t think so.’

Georgie narrowed her eyes. Freya was so obviously on edge, constantly shifting in her seat, turning her wedding ring round and round her finger, frowning out the windscreen and squeezing the steering wheel so hard the muscles stood out on her forearms. Maybe James had told her what he’d said.
If he did, there’s no need for me to stay silent.

‘How was your weekend?’ she asked.

Freya snorted. ‘Crap.’

‘Yeah?’

‘I’m either working here or working at home,’ Freya said. ‘Washing, cooking, cleaning, running around. Never stops.’

‘James help much?’

Freya snorted again.

‘Seems a nice guy,’ Georgie said. ‘When he came over for that investment info we had a bit of a chat. Did he tell you?’

‘He may have mentioned it.’ Freya shrugged. ‘I was cooking dinner and wrangling kids and putting a load of laundry through so I’m not really certain.’

‘I know what you mean.’

Freya muttered.

‘Sorry?’

‘I said, you have no kids.’ Freya pressed her thumb and forefinger to her eyes. ‘There’s no comparison.’

Georgie bristled.
If she thinks that flinging barbs will make me shut up and back off, she’d better think again, and quick
. ‘I know,’ she said.

‘Good.’

‘No. I mean, I
know.
’

‘Know what?’

‘About you and Tim.’

Down the street a smiling police officer started their way.

‘Tim who?’

‘James told us.’

Freya kept rubbing her eyes. ‘James is an idiot.’

‘How did you and Tim get together?’

Freya said nothing.

‘You may as well tell me,’ Georgie said.

‘Tell you what?’

Oh, the advanced stalling techniques!
‘Or you could just tell the detectives.’

‘It’s not true.’

‘Bullshit.’

The police officer was at Freya’s window. She lowered it.

‘All over,’ he said. ‘Peaceful surrender, nobody injured. Fly free, my fellow emergency service personnel.’

Georgie smiled. ‘Have a good one.’

He walked away and Freya raised her window again. ‘You can believe what you want but it isn’t true.’

‘Bullshit again.’ Georgie picked up the mike. ‘Thirty-three is clear at this scene, no longer required.’

‘Perfect timing,’ Control said. ‘I have a pedestrian hit-and-run on Oxford Street in Paddo.’

‘Three’s on the case.’ Georgie slammed the mike onto its hook. ‘The detectives should be told.’

‘It isn’t true.’ Freya lurched the ambulance down the gutter and onto the street.

‘I don’t believe you.’

‘Fine,’ Freya said. ‘See if I care.’

‘Then you won’t care if I call up that detective and let her know.’

Freya hit the switches for the lights and siren. ‘That’s slander.’

‘It’s only slander if it –’

‘Hearsay then. Whatever.’

‘I’ll say it’s a rumour I heard. I told her on Friday about the rumours that went around the school and she listened, so I’m sure she’ll be interested in another one.’

Freya tore onto Victoria Street. ‘I can’t see why she would.’

‘What you can see doesn’t matter,’ Georgie said. ‘She needs to know.’

‘You a cop now, are you?’ Freya hit the brakes to avoid a panicking red Mini then ripped around it on the wrong side of the road. ‘I think you’re in the wrong uniform then.’

Georgie held on as Freya took the corner into Oxford Street, siren screaming, lights flashing off shopfronts and signs. No more – for now. It was time to focus. The traffic was chockers. Georgie could see the accident site ahead and snugged up her latex gloves as Freya roared down the wrong side of the road. Pedestrian versus car usually resulted in trauma to the legs, probably the head too. She was good with trauma.

Usually.

She pushed away the snide voice and the argument and the whole thing with Tim, and put her hand on her seatbelt, ready to get out.

Four police huddled around the woman lying on the roadway. One was on his knees doing something, and another turned away and retched. Georgie could hear someone wailing, even though the window was up. She reached for the microphone. ‘Thirty-three’s on scene.’

‘Thanks, Thirty-three.’

Freya braked to a stop. Georgie jumped out and opened the back sliding door to grab the Oxy-Viva. The wailing turned into shrieks and she hurried across the asphalt.

The relief in the cops’ eyes at her arrival was clear and Georgie could see why. The woman’s left cheek was torn open, and though the cop’s gloved and shaking hands tried to hold a blood-soaked dressing over the wound, the woman’s struggles made it gape, revealing the white of bone and teeth underneath. Her right arm was fractured halfway down the humerus, and each time she thrashed, her shoulder moved and then the arm followed floppily a second later. Her left knee was avulsed and one broken end of her left femur bulged against her skin below her denim shorts, and her arms were covered in abrasions full of road gravel. She was screaming for her mother.

‘She won’t lie still,’ the young copper said, his voice cracking.

Georgie knelt beside him. ‘You did good. Do you know her name?’

‘ID says it’s Lucy.’ Another copper held the woman’s open wallet and her blood-spattered handbag. ‘She’s twenty-three.’

Georgie pressed a clean dressing to Lucy’s cheek and leaned close. ‘Lucy, look at me. Can you tell me what happened?’

Lucy wailed. ‘Muuuum!’

‘Lucy!’

‘Muuuuuuuuuum!’

Georgie looked around. Freya was there now, setting up the oxygen mask and monitor. It would be good if they could play nicely, for Lucy’s sake.

Of the cops standing about she picked the one who looked the most calm and least pale. ‘Kneel here,’ she said. ‘Hold her head until we can get a collar on to protect her neck.’

He did so. Georgie slipped the oxygen mask over Lucy’s head, using the strap to keep the dressing on her cheek for now. Freya handed her a collar and she strapped it around Lucy’s neck. ‘Keep supporting her,’ she said to the cop. ‘You’re doing good.’

‘Sinus tach of one thirty,’ Freya said brusquely, one eye on the monitor, the other on the sphygmo dial as she inflated the cuff and fitted the earpieces of her stethoscope into place at the same time. ‘Ninety on fifty.’

Georgie shone her torch into Lucy’s eyes. ‘Equal and reacting.’

‘Muuuuuuuuuuum!’ The shriek was deafening.

‘It’s okay, Lucy, it’s all going to be okay.’

Georgie started a quick nose-to-toes examination while Freya clipped a tourniquet around Lucy’s arm and palpated for a vein. Head was good except for the face; neck appeared uninjured, but better safe than sorry, hence the collar; left arm intact except for the abrasions, and now splinted to protect the cannula Freya was inserting; right needing splinting for the fracture; chest had equal movement and felt undamaged; abdo soft, though it was hard to know about tenderness when all Lucy did was scream whether Georgie was touching her or not; pelvis was firm; left leg bad, but right was kicking well.