Jill Jackson - 04 - Watch the World Burn (3 page)

‘What a waste of time,’ said Scotty, leaning on an elbow, his face inches from Jill’s in the sheets beneath him. His huge bronze shoulder was a boulder above her.

‘What a ... what did you just say?’ Jill lurched up from under him, looking to crack his chin with her head, but he recoiled quickly, grinning.

‘Whoa, Jackson, you’re dangerous. Good move. Now come here.’

On her knees, naked, Jill was frozen, but only because she couldn’t decide whether to punch him or to bolt from the bed. Scotty reached up, wrapped a handful of her blonde hair around his hand and pulled gently.

‘What a waste of time,’ he said again, no longer smiling. ‘We could have been together like this for eighteen months, instead of just the last two weeks.’ He moved his hand further into her hair and cupped the base of her head. He drew her towards him.

Blue eyes locked with Scotty’s, Jill melted down to meet his mouth.

‘I missed you,’ he breathed, their noses touching.

‘So you wouldn’t believe this case I copped.’ Scotty’s legs were stretched halfway across Jill’s lounge room floor; his feet pointed towards Maroubra Beach, where the morning sunlight on the waves glinted like sparklers on a birthday cake. His back was supported by the base of her chocolate leather lounge. He used her coffee table as his own private dining nook. Shovelling in tabouli.

She sat with her knees drawn up in a corner of the matching lounge, watching him.

‘You sure you haven’t got anything else?’ he said, raising another forkful to his mouth.

‘You ate everything else.’

‘Anyway, so there’s this new restaurant in the city,’ he said. ‘Last night, I’m sent over there because someone was burned.’

‘Like in a kitchen fire?’

‘Nah. Get this – an old lady is there having dinner with her son, and she just bursts into flames. It’ll be all over the TV right now. Want to see if we can catch the news?’ He searched around for the remote.

Jill swung her feet onto the floor and bent to look under the table. Nothing was ever out of place unless she had house guests. And Scotty was especially good at messing everything up. Still, he had his good points. ‘So what was it,’ she said, standing. ‘An accident? A waiter cooking at the table?’

‘Nope,’ said Scotty.

‘Electrical fault? Candles?’

‘Nope. Nope.’

‘What?’

‘Exactly.’

‘Huh?’

‘I know,’ he said. ‘So we’ve had brief interviews with all the diners, except the son. The doctors don’t think she’ll make it, and she’s definitely not talking right now. Her face copped most of the burns.’

‘What’d the fireys have to say?’ she asked.

‘That probably an accelerant was used.’

‘Shit ... Probably?’

‘They couldn’t smell anything. They’re investigating.’

‘What’d the other diners see?’ she said.

‘Not much. No one saw anything but her on fire, and then the manager tackling her, putting out the flames. Everyone who had anything to say pretty much told me that they’d seen her eating with her son and then she was on fire.’

‘Has the son got a sheet?’

‘Nothing. And he was across the room on the way back from the shitter when she started screaming.’

‘She got a psych history?’

‘You think she set herself on fire?’

Jill raised an eyebrow, lifted a shoulder.

‘We couldn’t find a lighter or matches around her. I’ll look into any psych history today.’

‘What about the staff, the diners?’ she said. ‘Any squirrels?’

‘Not so far,’ said Scotty. ‘Nothing’s come up immediately, anyway. We’ve got a lot to get through there.’

‘Interesting,’ Jill said, leaning back into the lounge.

‘Yep,’ he said. ‘So’s the manager. You remember when Shane Johnson got shot on the job in Prince Alfred Park?’

‘Of course I remember. Some nutjob with a shottie.’

‘Well, you’ll remember that his partner was a constable, an Aboriginal bloke – Troy Berrigan,’ said Scotty. ‘Berrigan’s the manager of this restaurant.’

‘No shit! He was hit too, wasn’t he, when Johnson was shot? And Berrigan got the fucker?’

‘Yep. He lost two fingers. Still managed to get off a head-shot. Killed the perp.’

‘That’s him? Troy Berrigan – he’s this manager?’

‘Yep. He got out of the job a few months after.’

‘Wow. A fucken hero. I wondered what happened to him,’ Jill said, and paused. ‘You know, I’m kind of missing the job.’

‘You still liking the course?’

‘Yeah,’ she said. ‘Yeah, it’s good, but you miss the action, you know?’

‘I got some action for you over here.’

‘Pass,’ she said. ‘You smell like garlic.’

Troy awoke smiling, to the sound of a motorboat. Sitting on his chest. He opened his eyes and the cat smiled back. Crescents of gold glowed; the cat’s eyes squeezed mostly shut by his smile. The cat sighed deeply and Troy matched it.

Then last night returned. The woman’s face on fire. Did she make it through the night? Troy manoeuvred his wrist between the cat’s face and his own, checked his watch. Eleven! He shouldn’t have gone back to bed after waking the first time this morning; now he’d overslept, and that never happened. Ordinarily, he’d be up with the nightmares and to help Lucy and Christopher get ready for school. They’d be long gone by now.

But someone was in the kitchen.

‘Hey, sleepyhead,’ said Lucy from the sink. No school uniform.

‘What day is it?’ he said.

‘I’m not going to school today.’

‘Who are you, and what have you done with Lucy?’ he said.

‘Very funny. You said something happened last night and you’d tell me at breakfast.’

‘I didn’t say anything happened.’

‘I could tell. What happened?’

Lucy had always been this way. Since he’d won them back from foster care, he’d tried to protect his brother and sister from his struggles to keep them together, from his worries about money, from the drunken midnight calls from their mother every couple of months. But Lucy always sensed when he was upset. When she was five she used to shadow him when she saw he was stressed; he’d turn around and almost fall over her. Golden-haired and fine-featured – it was usually only other Kooris who recognised her Aboriginal heritage. She had their father’s bronzed skin, but their white mother’s aqua eyes. As she grew older, whenever Lucy saw Troy upset she’d try to do more around the house, try to calm Christopher when he was having an outburst. But for the last couple of years – well, since the shooting – she’d always wanted ‘to talk’. And there was no point trying to bluff his way through. Troy knew she’d keep nagging until he told her what was going on, how he felt. She shouldn’t have to worry about his problems, but he had to admit he didn’t know how he could have made it through without her.

‘There was an accident,’ he said.

‘You want toast?’ she asked.

‘Thanks.’

‘Did someone get hurt?’

‘A customer,’ he said. ‘She was burned.’

‘Shit. Is she all right?’

‘I don’t know. I think so. I’m going to go see her in the hospital today.’

‘Coffee?’ she asked.

‘Thanks.’

‘I’m coming with you,’ she said.

‘Where? To the hospital? You don’t need to do that, Lucy.’

‘I want to. You always have to handle everything on your own.’

‘Don’t you have to study? You’ve got exams coming up.’

‘I’ll bring my notes,’ she said. ‘Besides, we both know I’m gonna blitz them.’

Troy took the plate of toast from his sister. ‘So modest,’ he said. ‘Well, if you want to come, Luce, that’d be great. I’m not really looking forward to seeing this guy again.’

‘What guy?’

‘The lady’s son. He was so ... grateful to me. It made me really uncomfortable. The whole thing kinda reminded me of Jonno.’

Lucy took a sip of her coffee, watching him over the rim. When he didn’t speak for a moment, she asked, ‘Why was he grateful to you?’

‘I should phone him,’ Troy said, ‘before we go over there. Make sure we can visit.’ Make sure she’s still alive. ‘Chuck my wallet over, would ya, sis?’

Troy found Caine’s card and made his way to the phone. He rubbed at his right hand while he waited for the call to connect. His missing fingers burned.

‘Ah, Mr Caine, this is Troy Berrigan. From last night. I’m calling to ask how you and your mother are.’

‘Please, call me David, Troy. And thanks for ringing. Mum’s hanging in there. She’s still in ICU. They’ve got her in an induced coma.’

‘It’s just so terrible. I’m so sorry this has happened,’ said Troy. ‘Would you mind if I came over to visit?’

‘You won’t be able to see her.’

‘That’s okay, David. I just feel like I should come. I want to make sure you’re all right too.’ Find out if you’ve remembered how the hell your mother got burned.

‘Sure. You can come. That would be very good of you. Actually, I’d kind of like the support while the police are here.’

‘Detective Hutchinson mentioned he’d be coming out to see you,’ said Troy.

‘What do they want?’ asked David.

Troy paused, furrowed his brow. ‘Well, they have to try to figure out what happened. How this happened.’

‘Anyway, you can come,’ said David. ‘My daughter’s here. She’s pretty broken up about her grandmother.’

‘I’ll be there in about an hour, David,’ said Troy, ringing off. He stood. ‘I’m first in the bathroom, Luce.’

She bolted for the door. Never fails, he thought.

‘Hi, Mona,’ Lucy said to the skinny Goth girl perched on the arm of a chair next to David Caine.

‘Lucy,’ said the girl.

‘You two know each other?’ asked Troy.

‘Mona’s in the year above me at school,’ said Lucy. ‘Sorry to hear about your grandmother,’ she said to Mona.

The girl pulled at a piercing on her lip. Goth or Emo? Troy wondered. Luce assured him there was a huge difference. But they both wear black, have piercings, hate the world and are permanently depressed, aren’t they? he’d asked her once. Yep, she’d told him. And they write poetry, trowel on eyeliner and think about offing themselves all the time? Yep. And they’re different? he’d said. They’re nothing
like
each other, she’d snorted. You’re so old.

Troy watched the girls draw together, speaking quietly. He turned to Caine. ‘Any news on your mum?’ he asked. Unsurprisingly, the man looked as though he hadn’t slept at all. He’s changed his clothes, at least, thought Troy. He would have struggled to recall this man if they hadn’t met under such traumatic circumstances. Approximately one hundred and seventy centimetres tall, thirty-five to forty, greying brown hair, average build, Kmart jeans and dull green shirt. Most people could live next door to this bloke for years and not pick him down at the local shops.

‘The surgeon’s coming to see her today. He’s the best, apparently.’ Caine grunted. ‘Every specialist is supposedly the best. You never hear anyone say “He’s okay” or “He’s crap”.’

Troy gave a tight smile. What do you say to that? ‘Have the police been in yet?’ he asked.

‘Good timing,’ said Caine.

Troy turned and saw Scott Hutchinson striding down the hall. The detective towered over a blonde woman in cargo pants and white T-shirt. He watched her as the couple made their way towards him and Caine. Hot, was his first thought. Cop, his second. Almost unconsciously, he dropped his right hand below his chair to hide his missing fingers. Suddenly ashamed of himself, he raised it again, coughed, and deliberately covered his mouth so she’d see. If any girl didn’t want to know him with a hand like this, he didn’t want to know her.

Bad luck anyway, he thought. Just as the couple approached, his instincts told him they were together.

‘Mr Berrigan,’ said Hutchinson, holding his hand out to Troy. ‘Mr Caine. The nurses pointed us over here. You remember me from last night – Scott Hutchinson? You can call me Scotty.’ He shook hands with Caine. ‘This is Detective Jill Jackson.’

Troy watched Caine shake hands with Detective Jackson. Then she turned to face him.

‘It’s good to meet you,’ she said, and smiled.

They know, he thought, feeling sick. Of course they know. It’s their job to know who you are. Still, it had been a couple of years since he’d met anyone who knew about the shooting. He avoided police at all costs.

‘I came to see how Mrs Caine is doing,’ Troy said.

‘Us too,’ said Hutchinson. ‘How is she?’

David gave them an update on his mother’s progress.

‘It’s just the most terrible thing,’ said Scotty. ‘I’m sorry you’re going through this.’

Caine nodded.

‘We need to get a statement from you, if that’s okay,’ said Scotty.

‘Sure, it’s okay,’ said Caine. ‘But I don’t know what I can tell you.’

‘Let’s just sit over here, shall we?’ said Scotty, pointing across the visitors’ waiting room to a set of chairs and a plastic table. ‘We don’t need everyone listening.’ He nodded in the direction of Mona and Lucy, heads together, still talking.

‘I don’t mind if Troy comes,’ said Caine. ‘He was so great last night. I’d kind of prefer it actually.’

‘Sure,’ said Scotty, raising an eyebrow, just for Troy to see.

‘Can you just go through what happened last night for us, Mr Caine?’ said Scotty when the four of them had taken a seat. He had his notepad ready. Troy noticed that Jill Jackson also had a pad and pen ready. Caine cleared his throat. ‘Call me David,’ he said.

‘Ah, you might want to wait a minute, Scotty,’ interrupted Jackson. Troy snapped his eyes towards her, frowning. He felt he couldn’t wait much longer to hear Caine’s version of last night’s events. Her eyes did not meet his. He followed her gaze and saw the dark-haired cop from last night striding towards them. What was her name again? Emma something? Troy heard Hutchinson shift a little in his seat, and he flicked his eyes around the table. Jackson’s top lip curled in what would maybe pass as a smile if you didn’t notice her eyes. Scotty ran a hand through his hair. When the newest entrant had almost reached their table, Scotty scraped his chair back and stood to welcome her.

‘Ah, Emma. Great. We were just getting started,’ said Scotty.

‘I can see,’ said Emma. ‘Thanks for waiting.’

‘Um, Mr Caine – ah, David – you remember Detective Emma Gibson from last night?’

Caine nodded once.

‘And Detective Gibson, you’ll remember Troy Berrigan?’ said Scotty.

‘Of course.’ Gibson’s grey eyes met his, her eyebrows raised.

‘And–’ began Scotty.

‘Jill,’ said Gibson.

‘Hello, Emma,’ said Jackson.

‘I’m a little surprised to see you here,’ said Gibson.

‘Yeah, well,’ said Jackson. ‘I was with Detective Hutchinson this morning, so I thought I’d come along, see if there’s anything I can do to help.’

Troy didn’t need his police training to be able to sense the tension between these three. Even Caine stared from face to face, his expression intensely curious. Troy wondered at the collective rush of blood that was betraying the intense emotions around him. Jackson had a fist-sized crimson blush at her throat, an almost symmetrical circle. Hutchinson’s whole face had taken the same hue, while Emma Gibson’s jet-black hair almost glowed against the perfect pallor of her face. He briefly wondered who he’d have chosen for a partner, based on these physical reactions.

Troy coughed. Once. Whatever was going on here wasn’t important; he just wanted to hear about what had happened in his restaurant last night.

Scotty jerked into movement. ‘Hang on a sec, Detective Gibson,’ he said. ‘I’ll grab you a chair.’ The big cop reached over and hooked a finger under the back of a chair at the next table. He swung it through the air in a single movement, and set it at the table near where Emma Gibson was standing. She slipped into the seat.

‘All right, David here was just about to tell us what he remembers about last night,’ said Scotty, turning back to face Caine. ‘If you want to begin, Mr Caine?’

The animation dulled in Caine’s eyes. ‘Like I said,’ he began, ‘there’s not much more to tell than what you already know.’ His voice was as lifeless as his eyes. ‘Anyway, I took my mum to Incendie for a surprise. I booked a while ago. My mum liked the name.’ He shook his head. ‘Can you believe it? After what’s happened, and all? Anyway, we’d ordered and I’d finished my entrée. She takes a lot longer to eat than me, you see, and I thought I’d just have a stretch – you know, walk around a bit, check out the view, go to the toilet – before the mains came. Anyway, I’m on my way back to my seat and I see her ... she’s ... my mum’s on fire.’ His voice trailed away.

‘I’m just a bit confused,’ said Scotty. ‘You didn’t see she was on fire until you were almost back at the table?’

‘I came from behind her. I’d gone once around the restaurant. I heard her scream before I saw her.’ Caine paused, his eyes scanning a memory. ‘I’ll never forget that sound.’

‘What did you see, exactly, David?’ said Hutchinson. ‘It’s really important that we try to understand absolutely everything that happened last night.’

‘Like I said,’ said Caine. ‘I saw my mother burning. God! What do you want me to tell you? That she was screaming? That her hair was on fire and her face was melting? What do you want me to say?’

Caine breathed hard, his hands flat on the plastic table, his eyes again alive. Troy wanted to tell him to take a break, to reach out a hand, but he sat still. The questioning had to continue.

‘You’re doing great, Mr Caine,’ said Jill Jackson, her level voice cutting through the pall of emotion that seemed to occupy the table they circled. ‘You’re taking us back to what happened. We weren’t there, and you’re helping us to be. You’re our eyes in there. Did you notice anyone–’

‘What do you think happened, Mr Caine?’ Emma Gibson interrupted, her pen poised over her notepad. Troy noticed that Jackson had put hers away. Huh.

‘I have no idea,’ said Caine. ‘I’m just completely shocked.’

‘Do you think the restaurant’s responsible?’ asked Scotty.

Thanks a lot, Hutchinson, thought Troy. Still, it was a reasonable question. He was surprised this guy wasn’t talking to them only through a lawyer.

‘I don’t see how,’ said Caine. ‘There was no one cooking around her. There were no flames anywhere near our table.’

‘Do you think someone could have done this to your mother? Is there anyone who might want to hurt her?’ asked Scotty.

‘Who would set an old lady on fire? Who would do something like that?’ David’s voice carried, and Scotty reached his hand out to touch Caine’s forearm.

‘Sorry, mate, I gotta ask things like that,’ said Scotty. ‘And, look ... while I’m asking you upsetting questions, there’s another thing we need to know. Could you tell us how your mum was before this happened?’

‘What do you mean, how she was?’

‘Like, was she healthy, happy? Would you say she had any big problems? Was she depressed?’