Cold Justice (5 page)

‘Bloody hell,’ Freya said. ‘How can I assess you if we do crap all the time?’

Georgie looked at her. She sounded almost genuine.

Freya met her gaze. ‘You know, I meant that about being sorry. About leaving so suddenly.’

Something in Georgie softened. Whatever else was going on, she felt Freya was telling the truth about that. ‘I know.’

‘I’m glad that we met so I could tell you that,’ Freya said. ‘You know how it is when things from your past hang over your head.’

Did she ever.

‘Thirty-three, cancel that,’ Control said. ‘Got a code two for you in First Fleet Park, near Alfred Street, CPR in progress.’

‘Three’s on the case.’

‘More like it.’ Freya flipped on the lights and siren and accelerated through an orange light.

Georgie said, ‘Need me to look it up?’

‘Nope, it’s right at the Quay.’

Georgie’s stomach slid downwards. No. It was ridiculous to think that. Wasn’t it?

‘A good assessment job,’ Freya said. ‘Finally.’

Georgie nodded.
He will not be there
. She braced an arm against the door as Freya stamped on the brakes behind a clueless driver, and tried the deep breathing that the counsellor had taught her.

Everything will be fine, everything will be fine.

Yeah, right.

Callum McLennan paused for breath. At the urging of Anna, his staffer, he had mentally rehearsed this glance out across the crowd and the crescendo that he put into his voice. It felt melodramatic, but the mass of students and parents before him was motionless and there was no sound from behind him where his aunt and uncle, Tamara and John Pieters, sat beside the college principal, Dion Entemann. Anna nodded at him from the floor. The journalists next to her were writing madly. She’d been pleased to see how many had turned up, and had whispered, ‘This will really help your profile.’ Callum had been pleased too, because every one meant another article about Tim, another printing of his photo, and someone somewhere would surely remember something.

‘These students and all the others like them across the country are our future.’

Bit of a cliché, he’d said to Anna when she’d run him through it. Clichés are the backbone of the politician’s speech, she’d replied. Anyway, they won’t notice when they hear what you’re going to say next.

‘It is the life in these young people that we must value.’ He was embarrassed to feel a lump in his throat. ‘Every single life is precious, and so it is my privilege to be able to announce that there is to be a new investigation into the homicide of my cousin, Tim Pieters, in whose name I declare this centre open.’

With an emotional tremble in his hand that he hoped nobody noticed, he raised the scissors and cut through the ribbon strung between portable basketball hoops beside him. The electronic scoreboards above the proper hoops on the courts winked on, the bright red letters flashing TIM TIM TIM.

The crowd clapped. Dion Entemann stood up to give Callum the kind of double-grip prolonged handshake he was becoming used to in this new career. In the hospitals, people were too busy for more than a quick grasp, if that.

‘Thank you,’ Entemann said. ‘We’re honoured to have you here.’

‘The honour’s all mine.’

Callum felt Anna’s hand at his back, angling him better for the photo op. He smiled into the lenses with Entemann still shaking his hand. As soon as the flashes went off Callum freed himself and went to his aunt and uncle.

‘Great news,’ John said. ‘When will they be out to interview us?’

‘The minister said it would take a little while for the detectives to get up to speed on the case,’ Callum said.

‘Days, weeks?’ Tamara said. ‘Months, God forbid?’

‘Tar,’ John said.

‘I don’t see why we had to get a member of the family into parliament to have anything happen.’

‘It’s not like that,’ Callum said. ‘The Minister for Police told me these cases are never closed, that detectives review all of them from time to time to see what new evidence might have come up.’

His promise to ‘assist as required’ – meaning anything from supporting the minister in an undefined number of ballots to quietly backgrounding journalists against colleagues he wanted targeted – had certainly helped. Callum didn’t care. Whatever it took. Being up there and seeing all the kids in the Macquarie uniform had hardened his resolve. He would suck up, work the system, kick heads wherever he had to, until the bastard who murdered Tim was caught.

‘Nobody’s been to see us in six years,’ his aunt said.

John put his arm around Tamara’s shoulders but she shook him off. He said, ‘This is supposed to be a cheerful event.’

‘There’s no such thing.’

‘I’m sorry,’ John said to Callum.

‘Don’t apologise for me,’ Tamara said.

‘He’s helping us.’

‘I know that.’

‘Then . . .’ John gestured around them.

‘What? Have a nice time? Chat and smile? Pretend I’m happy?’ She glared at him then walked away.

‘Don’t worry about her.’ John gripped Callum’s arm. ‘What you’re doing is good.’ He followed Tamara off the stage.

‘He’s right,’ Anna said behind Callum.

‘So is she,’ he said. ‘It shouldn’t happen just because I have access to the minister’s ear.’

Anna shrugged. ‘Whatcha going to do?’

‘Things like this shouldn’t be political.’

‘Everything’s political,’ she said. ‘By the way, nice work up there.’

‘Your speech.’

‘Like I said.’ She grinned. ‘Now follow me to the people’s level and start networking.’

She’d told him earlier what to do: begin talking with the closest person while she searched out the people he really needed to speak to. The nearest person was a dark-haired woman. She stood alone looking at the framed photo of Tim in his school uniform, currently on a white cloth-draped table but soon to hang on the wall.

‘My cousin,’ Callum said.

She turned to look at him. ‘So you said.’

‘Callum McLennan, MP.’ He put out his hand.

She shook it briefly. ‘Detective Ella Marconi.’

Anna came back. ‘Callum, may I speak to you for a moment?’

‘In a second,’ he said.

‘That’s fine,’ Ella said. ‘I’ll be here.’

Callum had to let himself be herded across the sprung floor to meet various local somebodies and grey-haired old boys. He chatted briefly then as soon as he could, he muttered to Anna, ‘I need to go back.’ She frowned but excused them from the group.

‘She’s a detective,’ he said.

‘On your cousin’s case?’

‘Why else would she be here?’

‘Maybe she’s an old girl.’

‘Why did she identify herself as a detective then?’

Callum’s heart pounded. He took a deep breath. He was impressed with Ella’s cool attitude and her strength and he wanted to impress her in the same way.

‘I’m back,’ he told her.

‘So I see.’

‘Are you investigating my cousin’s case?’

‘I am.’

Callum held back a shiver. This woman was going to solve the case, he could feel it. ‘Anna, would you get my aunt and uncle, please?’ He looked at Ella. ‘I mean, if you don’t mind? They’ll be delighted to meet you.’

‘Not at all. I’m keen to meet them too.’

John and Tamara followed Anna over and Callum introduced them. ‘Detective Marconi is on Tim’s case.’

John shook her hand. ‘Thank you for coming.’

Tamara said, ‘Where’s your partner?’

‘I’m working alone.’

‘How can that be?’

‘The main thing is that it’s being investigated,’ Callum said. The detective had no doubt heard worse tones of voice but he didn’t want her to be annoyed with them.

Ella acted like she hadn’t heard it at all. ‘Are any of Tim’s schoolmates here?’ she asked John.

‘Not that we’re aware,’ he said. ‘I mean, none of them have come up to speak to us, and I don’t know that we’d recognise them nowadays.’

‘Seeing as it’s been nineteen years,’ Tamara said. ‘Were you taken off another case to work on this?’

‘No.’

‘What were you doing?’

‘I was recovering after being shot.’

‘You’re injured too?’ Tamara said.

Callum thought Ella might justify herself, point out that she was working so she’d obviously been cleared for duty, but she didn’t.

‘I’m going to do everything in my power to bring your son’s killer to justice,’ she said instead.

‘Yes, but your power isn’t much, is it,’ Tamara said.

‘Tar, come on,’ John said, but Tamara shot a cold glance Callum’s way.

‘I expect you to tackle the minister about this,’ she said. ‘Saying the case is being investigated again, but only putting one officer on it and an injured one at that. How many of these cold cases have you done?’ she barked at Ella.

‘Your son is my first.’

Red spots appeared high on Tamara’s cheeks. ‘This is an insult. Callum, for all your grand words about the youth being so precious, Tim clearly doesn’t rate at all.’ She stalked away.

John sighed. ‘Sorry.’

‘It’s okay,’ Ella said. ‘She can’t rage at the killer, so she rages at those around her. We see it often.’

‘I can imagine,’ John said.

‘I hope you don’t mind me saying,’ she told him, ‘but you’ve done well to stay together. Many marriages don’t survive something like this.’

‘It’s not been easy,’ John said. ‘She’s been on medication but is still unstable at times.’

‘Really,’ Ella said. ‘I’m sorry to hear that.’

Callum felt anxious to get on with it. ‘How can we help you with this?’

‘At some point I’ll need to speak to everyone in the family –’

‘When?’

‘I’m not sure yet,’ Ella said. ‘It takes a little while to become properly familiar with the case.’

John was nodding. ‘We understand. But anything we can do, you let us know.’

‘I will,’ she said.

Callum put out his hand again. ‘Thank you.’

She shook her head. ‘Thank me when I solve it.’

Georgie saw a man run out into the street as they approached the Quay. He gestured for Freya to drive into a space that was much too narrow, and when she drove past, heading further along the street to a spot where she could climb the gutter and enter the park, he shouted and punched the side of the ambulance.

Freya shook her head as she looped the ambulance across the grass to the people clustered there. ‘We’re everyone’s punching bag today.’

Georgie was out the door the second Freya stopped. ‘Quickly!’ someone shouted from the cluster. She yanked open the side door to grab the Oxy-Viva and stepped back into the waver from the street.

‘You should’ve told me,’ he panted.

She went to go around him but he followed close by her side. ‘You should’ve told me you’d seen me but were going further along. Then I wouldn’t have hit the ambulance.’ He held up his hand. ‘I think I hurt myself.’

Georgie heard Freya snort behind her. She ignored the man and fixed her gaze on the huddle. Feet in brown leather shoes stuck out of one end, and she could see the up-and-down movement of someone doing compressions. She scanned the group standing around.
Focus, now. He isn’t here.

‘Can you please look at my hand?’

Georgie pushed her way into the knot of people. The victim was a big man, flat on his back, his face congested and purple and his eyes half-open. The woman doing CPR was good at it and when she looked up Georgie recognised in her eyes that she was in the job.

‘Story?’

‘Collapsed six minutes ago. I saw him go down. Wife says no complaints beforehand.’ She nodded and Georgie looked over to see a woman in her sixties sitting weeping on the grass. ‘Agonal resps for about five minutes. History of bypass three years ago, hypertension, CAD. Hi, Freya.’

‘Hey, Penny. This is Georgie. You okay to stay for a bit?’

‘No worries.’

Georgie opened the intubation kit and prepared a tube. Freya attached the monitor and Georgie saw he was in asystole. Not good.

She yanked on gloves and opened the man’s mouth. The first glance always told you so much – was this going to be easy or hard? The man was big with a bullish neck, but at least there was no vomit.

Freya strapped a tourniquet around the man’s arm.

The waver crouched behind her. ‘I think I really did some damage.’

Georgie opened the laryngoscope and slid it into the man’s pharynx. No view of the cords whatsoever.
Crap.

She came out, fitted the Laerdal mask to his face and did some serious bagging.

‘You okay?’she asked the woman doing compressions. ‘Need a break?’

A bead of sweat fell from Penny’s cheek. ‘Sfine.’

‘I’m in.’ Freya released the tourniquet and taped and bunged the cannula.

‘Excuse me,’ the waver said.

‘Excuse
me
,’ Freya said. ‘We’re a little busy.’

He muttered something and sat back on his haunches.

Having pinked the patient up a little, Georgie slid onto her stomach with her elbows by his ears. She tilted his head back, searching with the laryngoscope once more.

Shit.

Freya was watching her with a question in her eyes. Georgie started bagging again and checked the monitor. It wasn’t the end of the world if she couldn’t get the tube in. Yes, it’d be good for the appraisal, but she could still run the arrest well. She looked at Freya. ‘Ten of adrenaline.’

Then movement in the watching people caught her eye.
Oh no. T
he man was there. Watching her.

Georgie tried to concentrate as she attempted the tube again. ‘Cricoid,’ she said to Freya, hoping the extra pressure on the patient’s larynx would bring the vocal cords into sight. Her field of vision was split in two: the half in the man’s throat was dark and purplish, the half in the outside world was bright with sunlight. Freya pushed her fingers against the man’s neck, but it was no good: there was no flash of white cords.

She came out and bagged him again, keeping her eyes on the mask in her hands and away from the watching crowd. She could feel Freya waiting for her decision. She frowned and tried to focus.

‘I’ll try once blind,’ she said.

Freya still waited.

‘Oh, and atropine, please.’