Violent Exposure (32 page)

The doctor huffed and looked at his watch. ‘You can have three minutes.’

If this was Callum, he’d know the importance of our work, he’d let us have longer.
‘Five will let us ease into things nice and gently.’

‘Four.’

Pedant.
‘That’ll be fine. Thank you.’

Once they were in there, it really would be fine. What was he going to do – stand by the door counting seconds under his breath then bumrush them out?

In the corridor, Dennis said, ‘You’re in fighting form today.’

‘I thought about this all night.’ She’d stayed at her parents’, tucked up in her old bed in her old room, and in the early morning lay curled under the
quilt listening to her mother potter in the kitchen while the rising sun cast the familiar shadow of the greenhouse on the bedroom ceiling. She’d lain there and thought about this. And Shep. And her dad.

‘It’s time to get to what matters.’

*

Connor froze under the knife. He hadn’t noticed the change of air when the whisperer had come in. He was losing it and that was bad because he had to be
alert and prepared if he was to get out of here alive.

The blade lifted off his spine as paper rustled, then the whisper began in his right ear. ‘Connor Crawford –’

Connor struck out towards the sound with his head but missed again.

‘– aged in his early forties,’ the whisper went on, ‘and believed to be travelling under an alias, is also wanted for questioning in connection with the death of
Emil Page, eighteen, who was found dead in Pyrmont yesterday morning. William Sheppard, Crawford’s father-in-law, had no comment. His daughter Suzanne’s funeral has been delayed while her mother recovers from a medical emergency.’

Connor flinched at the thought of his in-laws, at the word funeral. He couldn’t speak through the rag in his mouth and tape across his lips. ‘M-mm.’

The whisperer
tore the tape off, taking skin with it. Connor cried out as blood started to flow from his damaged lip. ‘You liar.’

The knife returned to the back of his neck. ‘How dare you.’

‘She’s not dead,’ Connor said.

‘You saw her die with your own eyes,’ the man hissed. ‘You stood there and watched her go, just like you stood and watched before. You gutless wonder.’

‘She’s not dead,’ Connor said.

‘Suzanne, Emil, and the others. That’s five you’ve killed now. How does it feel?’

‘I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about, but I didn’t kill anyone and Suzanne isn’t dead!’

The blade at his spine slashed sideways. Blood trickled hot on his cold skin. He jerked forward. ‘She is not dead.’

A hand grabbed his hair and shook him hard. ‘She’s dead and cold just like your sisters and your
mother.’

‘My mother’s alive and well in New Zealand,’ he lied.
Say anything but the truth.

‘You burnt your mother to death in her home.’

‘She’s on a farm near Auckland.’

‘She’s ashes in a graveyard with your baby sisters.’ The hand twisted his hair and the whisper was angry and hot in his ear. ‘And what’s my name?’

Don’t say it, don’t say it.

The tip of the knife pushed against the base
of his skull like a red-hot needle burning through his skin. The pressure and the pain grew and Connor saw the blade being rammed up into the back of his head.
A shower of sparks then I’ll see Suzanne walking towards me.

‘What is my name?’

‘How the hell should I know?’

The knife moved to the left side of his neck and the tip sliced the skin around his birthmark. Connor flinched away.

‘Because
I’d know this anywhere, Robert. You should’ve thought of that before you wore that dress.’

‘My name’s Connor. You’ve got the wrong guy, fuckwit. Cut me loose.’

‘How did you walk away from that fire? How could you do such a thing and just walk away?’

Connor wouldn’t allow himself to think about it. ‘You’ve made the biggest mistake of your life here, pal. You’ve got the wrong guy and I’m going
to sue you for every last cent.’

‘I know you, Robert.’ The knife shifted back to his spine. ‘You always were a little dipstick, a waste of space. I knew from the day I met you that you wouldn’t amount to shit. I knew when I saw you at that party, beautiful wife by your side but the two of you obviously fighting, that though you might’ve found something good there was no way you could hold on
to it.’ The knife tip pressed deeper. ‘I used to think that people could change, then I saw you and I realised I was wrong. I asked around. I made friends with her. She never told you that, did she? She confided in me. She said you had a secret. You always were a liar. I helped her out, told her a little something.’

The knife pressed harder and harder, forcing Connor’s head down so that his chin
was against his chest. He felt the tip deep in his scalp, pushing against his skull.

‘You are going to pay for this,’ he said.

‘I know you know who I am.’ The whisper was harsh. ‘It doesn’t matter if you say my name or not. You think I’ll let you live as long as you pretend not to know? Think again, my boy. Think again.’

There was one final push from the knife, sending a bolt of pain into Connor’s
head, then it was gone.

He eased his head upright, shakily bracing himself for a blow, a stab, a shotgun blast, but there was just the movement of air, then nothing.

*

Jesse Locke looked up when they walked in. ‘You need to talk to my doctor.’

‘He said you’re fine,’ Ella said. Dennis closed the door as Ella pulled a chair up to the bedside. ‘Sorry we frightened you yesterday.’

Locke smiled.
The call buzzer lay beside him. ‘I just panicked.’

‘But you’re clear now why we’re here, right?’

‘Not a clue.’

‘Oh, that’s right. How did I forget? We didn’t get a chance to tell you.’ She held out the photograph of Suzanne Crawford. ‘When was the last time you saw this woman?’

Locke made a show of studying it. ‘I’m not sure I know her.’

‘Of course you know her. She brought you to this hospital
three weeks ago.’

‘Really?’

He seemed calm, confident. Like he’d thought about this all night and come up with a plan.
You’re not the only one, buddy.

‘She’s dead, you know,’ Ella said.

‘That’s very sad.’ He put the picture down. ‘Is that all?’

‘How’s work?’

‘Fine.’

‘What do you do exactly?’

‘Patrol in a car, check out places at night to make sure they’re safe.’

‘What places?’

‘Schools,
shops, things like that.’

‘Ever run into a bad guy?’

He smiled. ‘Not so far.’

‘Ever hope you do?’

He laughed. ‘Hardly.’

‘Hoping to join the cops one day?’

‘I used to want to,’ he said. ‘Applied a couple of times but didn’t get in.’

‘Why was that?’

‘They didn’t really say.’

Ella nodded. ‘You have to pass fitness testing and so on at the security firm?’

‘No.’

‘Ryan Dawson know you have
a heart problem?’

‘It’s not really any of his business.’

‘It is if you’re prone to chest pain,’ Dennis said. ‘If you’re supposed to be fit enough to catch some tosser climbing a fence to break into a school.’

Locke stared at them. ‘My role is prevention. It’s up to you guys to catch them.’

Ella said, ‘How did you meet Suzanne Crawford again?’

‘Who?’

‘The woman in the photo.’

‘I told you
I don’t know her.’

‘We had detectives show your picture to somebody who saw you together,’ Ella lied. They had no photo of him to show Brooke.

Locke shook his head. ‘They’re wrong.’

Ella said, ‘Think you’ll apply to the force again?’

‘Probably not.’

‘Why’s that?’

‘Changed my mind.’

Ella thought for a moment. ‘What are you looking into instead?’

‘Who says I’m looking into anything?’

She
shrugged. ‘You seem like a smart guy and you used to want to be a cop. I’d be surprised if security patrol work fulfils you.’

‘Pays the bills.’

She thought about possible careers. Paramedic was not officious enough. Firefighter? Not a hope with his heart trouble. Cops were out.
Think! Before the doctor realises you’re over time!

A security guard who liked driving around at night looking for
people up to no good but wanted more in his job would like to be a . . .

‘Private investigator,’ she said.

Locke flushed.

‘Are you doing a course?’

‘Discretion is an essential character trait of a PI,’ he said.

‘So you’re not going to tell us,’ she said. ‘We can find out, you know.’

‘Find away.’

Dennis said, ‘I’ve been asked for information by PIs before.’

‘Bet you never gave it to them,’
Locke said.

‘Sometimes I did, if they helped me in return.’

‘Goody for them,’ Locke said.

Ella leaned over him. ‘Did Suzanne Crawford hire you to help her?’

‘A good PI protects his clients.’

‘I don’t think she’ll mind.’

‘She mightn’t but I do.’

Ella said, ‘We can subpoena you and make you tell it to a judge.’

‘Fine,’ he said.

‘Does Dawson know you’re doing this course?’ Dennis asked.

‘What I do in my time is my business.’

The door opened and the doctor stepped in. Locke immediately grabbed his chest and pulled a face. ‘Pain’s coming on again, doc.’

The doctor glared at Ella. ‘Out.’

For God’s sake!
She marched outside.

‘I told you four minutes,’ the doctor snapped in the corridor. ‘Didn’t you hear me?’

Ella saw red. ‘We –’

Dennis cut her off. ‘We’re sorry. Thank you.’
He nudged Ella towards the lift. She resisted but he pushed her on. He whispered, ‘Play nice – we’ll have to get past this gatekeeper again.’

He was right. Ella jabbed the lift button.

Just you wait, Jesse Locke.

*

Connor sat dazed on the chair, unable to make himself believe that Suzanne was dead. Dehydration had slowed his mind so that any concept felt too hard to grasp, let alone that one.
It seemed impossible that it had all come to this. He’d felt like there was always time, that he would come to a point at which he could force himself to tell her. She’d tried everything to make him. She said that if they were truly a couple they should have no secrets. She said that she’d kept nothing from him so why did he from her? She said that if he loved her at all he would see what this
secret was doing to them and would open up. He still couldn’t do it. He just could not believe that she would stay with him, even though, as she said, what he was doing was driving them apart.

He felt desperately for the end of the tape around his wrists.

Then she said that if words weren’t enough, she’d have to act. She threw out some favourite clothes of his, wrecked a painting he’d bought
for her, kissed a stranger in a pub one night when they were out. Still he couldn’t do it. One day they had a huge fight and she went out and slept with some guy she picked up. She came back and he could smell him. They had an even bigger fight but he still couldn’t tell her. Then she decided that it wasn’t enough to just sleep with a guy once, she had to have an actual affair. So she did.

She
had a couple. Emil was the second. She hated it and so did Connor. She set it up so he would see them. He was angry and not-angry. He hated that things had got so bad but he didn’t blame her. He understood her fury and her need to do something. Anything. His fingers found a cut, right at the end of his trembling reach, in the tape over his right hand. He held his breath and stroked it carefully
upwards, trying to get it to lift.

Things had settled a little after that. Maybe she thought . . . he didn’t know what she thought. But then a month or so back it started again. She got all secretive, which was unusual, because she used to flaunt it, as if to prod him. Then one day she came home and called him ‘Robert’. He couldn’t hide his surprise and shock. She refused to say how she’d found
out. She said if he wouldn’t tell her anything, she was going to find out for herself. Then this week she started up with this paramedic, but asked Connor to ‘meet her’ one afternoon in Marrickville, so he would see them together.

His fingers were slippery with blood from his raw wrists. He kept losing his grip on the tape and had to stop, and breathe, and fight back the panic.

The whisperer
had told her his name, he could see that now. And he understood her using the paramedic like that: having found that tiny corner of the puzzle, she was driven to do more. She needed to force the issue, needed to put him in a position where he had to respond. It was always his lack of response that hurt her the most, yet that was sadly all he thought he could give.

Oh, Suzanne
.

If he got out
of here, he would tell the truth. To everyone.

It was time he faced it.

*

‘I don’t understand why this Dawson hasn’t called us back,’ Ella said to Dennis as they headed for the meeting room.

‘Maybe he’s sick. Or overseas.’

‘No excuse.’

He smiled at her. ‘When you want something, you really want something.’

‘You got that straight.’

‘Ella.’

She turned to see Detective Murray Shakespeare
jog- trotting up the corridor towards them.

‘Catch you in there,’ Dennis murmured, and stepped into the room.

Murray slapped her shoulder with a manila folder. ‘How you been?’

She smiled tightly. ‘Busy.’

‘I read you, baby, I’m just the same. Life’s flat out in the Drug Squad. That’s why I’m here.’

Baby?

‘Hey, Els, c’mon. Don’t look at me like that.’

ELS?

Murray opened the folder and took
out a photo of Billy Gee. ‘Remember nabbing this guy for us at an internet cafe?’

‘It was yesterday,’ she said. ‘I’m not senile.’

‘He might be coming back your way soon,’ he said. ‘Get this: a drug dealer was found dead at home, all his stash and money gone, and on the kitchen floor is a sneaker print in heroin. We haul Gee in yesterday on the dealing charge, and whaddyaknow, his shoe matches
the print.’