Fifty Fifty: (Harriet Blue 2) (Detective Harriet Blue Series) Page 7

  Zac rolled in the dirt. ‘Fuck you! Fuck you, po-lice piece of shit!’

  ‘Let’s have a look,’ Kash was saying, swiping through Zac’s phone. ‘Recent photos.’

  ‘Stop, Kash.’ I grabbed at him, just missed the phone. ‘This is an illegal search. Anything you find on there is going to be tainted.’

  ‘Says who?’ He held me back with a massive arm, worked the screen with the thumb of his other hand. ‘I see … naked teen girls. I see kids sucking on bongs. What’s this?’ Kash showed me the phone screen. I glimpsed a mess of wires and tools and glass jars on a sprawling, cluttered table. ‘Bomb-making in progress?’

  ‘Give me the phone,’ I told Kash. ‘Or I’ll take it from you.’ He was trying to zoom in on the photographs, backing away from me. I gave Kash a few seconds to comply, then strode forward, lunged and grabbed the hand that held the phone. He was fast, catching my other wrist as I went for an open-handed slap to the side of his head. I dropped and hooked a leg around his, pulling him off balance. He let go of my wrist to save himself from hitting the dirt and I got my slap in, wrenching the phone from his fingers as he was distracted by the blow.

  ‘Oh shit!’ Zac was laughing, pointing at me. ‘Bitch has got some moves!’

  I threw the phone at the boy, who only barely caught it against his chest. ‘Call me bitch one more time,’ I seethed, ‘I’ll shove that phone so far up your arse you’ll be able to Skype your spleen.’

  Kash watched the teen run off into the bush. His face was slowly flushing with colour, one hand steadying himself against the ground.

  ‘That was a big mistake,’ he told me. ‘Assaulting a federal agent is a minimum two years’ prison.’

  ‘Conducting a search without a warrant is a serious service violation,’ I said. I was rolling up the sleeves of my shirt. ‘But neither of us is going to make a report.’

  ‘We’re not?’

  ‘No.’ I set my feet apart, cracked my knuckles. ‘We’re going to sort this out right here, right now.’

  Chapter 27

  ‘OH, COME ON,’ Kash snorted, rising to his full height. ‘Don’t be ridiculous.’

  ‘Harry.’ Snale put a hand on my arm. ‘This isn’t a good idea.’

  ‘Victoria, our special agent friend here thinks in very simple terms.’ I kept my eyes on Kash. ‘He’s not a complex man. He understands strength and weakness. Good and evil. Winning and losing. He needs to be shown that he isn’t the alpha dog here, and when he knows that he can fall the fuck into line.’

  Already I could see Kash’s interest in my challenge piquing, the way it had the night before when I ragged on his workout. A smile was playing about the corners of his mouth.

  ‘I don’t hit women,’ Kash sneered. ‘So you can back down right now before you overexert yourself.’

  ‘You don’t have to hit me. You just have to pin me.’

  ‘And what exactly will that achieve?’ he asked.

  ‘Whoever gets their face pinned against the dirt loses all jurisdictional authority over this investigation.’

  ‘Oh, bullshit,’ Kash snorted. ‘I’m SAS–combat trained, sweetheart.’

  ‘Then this should be over quickly.’

  ‘I’m not involved in this.’ Snale backed off towards the truck, her head down.

  ‘I need you as a witness!’ I called.

  ‘So, what? I pin you against the dirt, and I’m the boss.’ Kash’s eyes wandered over my body, measuring, underestimating, the way everybody did. ‘And you’ll fully accept that. It’s my investigation to run from start to finish.’

  ‘It’s got to be the face.’

  ‘Right,’ Kash said. ‘I put your face in the dirt and your arse is mine.’

  ‘You put my face in that dirt and I will trawl this town for Islamic terrorists until the cows come home.’ I put my hand on my heart. ‘I will speak operational jargon so pompous and ridiculously over-official that not even you will be able to understand me.’

  He didn’t even ask me what I wanted him to do if I won. The possibility never entered his mind. He rushed towards me, huge hands out, ready to break me.

  Chapter 28

  KASH FAKED LEFT, swept to my right and gathered me up in a chokehold, his hairy arm wrenching me backwards. I let him take me, pushed off the ground and rolled over him, shocking him with how fast I had him on his back.

  We both twisted, righted, kicking red sand. His glasses had been knocked off. He ignored them. My heart swelled with a sick kind of joy. I liked to fight. I’d been fighting since I was a kid. Trying to claw some corner of existence for myself in houses where I was the cuckoo invading the nest.

  Kash was eyeing me, trying to decide his next move. I didn’t give him time to go on the offensive again. I rushed at him, caught his arm and tried to twist it as we danced in the dirt. He grabbed the back of my neck and shoved me downwards, using my own momentum as I’d used his. I was pinned on my back, the wind knocked out of me. Most people panic when they can’t breathe in a fight. But I knew the air would slowly return. I kicked out and he overbalanced, fell on me. I shoved his jaw upwards.

  Snale was watching us from the truck. I locked eyes with her, my neck and shoulders and arms on fire as the incredible weight of Kash’s body came down upon me. She grimaced as Kash leaned on me. It was clear who she was rooting for.

  I kicked again, got him in the hip. I twisted and scrambled out from beneath him, got him in my own chokehold, a knee in his spine. He stood and I went with him, absurdly hanging off him like a monkey trying to wrestle a bear. He tried to shake me off, gripping at my arms, but I locked my legs around his waist. And then he did what I hoped he’d do.

  Kash sank to his knees and fell backwards, trying to crush me against the ground. I slid sideways before I could hit the dirt, let go of his neck and scooped up his arm. I wrenched it high against his back. He yowled, shocked by the sudden pain, and I shoved the back of his head down so that his cheek hit the red earth beneath us.

  ‘Yes.’ I stumbled off him, wiping sweat from my eyes. ‘Yes. Yes. Yes!’

  The giddy exhilaration of my win lifted the weight of the Last Chance case, of my brother’s case, right off my shoulders in an instant. For a second I felt free. When I fought, I felt strong. I felt that I could take care of myself. I was a warrior.

  Kash was dusting sand out of his ear when I came back to myself. Back to the shitty hole in the desert, the middle of nowhere, far from where I needed to be. My smile faltered, as with painful clarity a little voice in my head reminded me that though he was clearly an idiot, a stubborn and ignorant being, this man was supposed to be my partner. We were supposed to be working on this thing together.

  I offered my hand to Kash, but he didn’t take it. He gave me a hateful look and walked off towards the car.

  Chapter 29

  WHITT TURNED THE page of the psychologist’s report before him, the clatter and crash of the prison visitors’ centre pushed back in his mind until it was only a dull hum in his ears.

  Beyond the plexiglas, a door opened at the end of the small corridor. Samuel Blue was shuffled to the chair before the detective. Whitt put the psychologist’s report in his briefcase and pulled out his notebook and pen.

  ‘How you going, Edward?’ Sam gave a tired smile. The two had met in the courtroom briefly the day before, exchanged a phone call.

  ‘Oh, you know. How are you? That’s the more important question.’

  ‘I really need that money you were talking about on the phone.’ Sam leaned forwards so that his mouth was centimetres from the speaker holes in the glass. ‘I’m hot property in here, and the only thing that’s going to keep the other cons off my back is protection money. I’ve used up the cash Harry gave me.’

  ‘Are you still receiving threats?’ Whitt asked.

  ‘Daily. Staff and inmates now.’

  ‘Jesus.’

  ‘Yeah,’ Sam sniffed. ‘I know the drill – Harry told me. Protection money in prison is a lifetime deal. You pa
y once, you have to keep paying. But I need to at least keep drip-feeding these guys some cash or I’m not going to survive to see the rest of the hearings.’

  ‘I’ll move some money into your account this afternoon.’ Whitt made a note.

  ‘I don’t know how to fight.’ Sam seemed distracted, rubbing his palms together hard. ‘I’m a fucking graphic design expert. I haven’t been in a scrap since I was a kid. Harry’s the fighter.’

  ‘I spoke to her this morning. She’s desperate to get back here.’

  ‘She should stay as far away as she can.’ Sam locked eyes with Whitt. ‘I never wanted her here in the first place. Whoever’s doing this to me, they’ll be after her next. Someone’s got to want to see me suffer big-time to put this much effort into a frame-up. I’d suffer pretty badly if anything happened to Harry, right?’

  Whitt tapped the side of his page thoughtfully with his pen. He worked through his words before he spoke. Tried to keep them diplomatic. Supportive.

  ‘So you still think someone is framing you?’

  ‘It’s the only explanation,’ Sam said. ‘They went into my apartment. They planted those things. Someone abducted those girls when I was in the same area. They must have been following me.’

  ‘It’s …’ Whitt cringed. ‘It’s a lot of effort to go to. To do this to you.’

  ‘You’re telling me, mate.’

  ‘I mean, you have no idea who it is?’

  ‘No clue.’

  ‘How can someone be that angry at you, and you have no idea who they are?’ Whitt asked. ‘Whatever you did to them must have been a supreme betrayal to warrant this. Something really, really bad.’

  Sam’s lips twitched. Whitt could see a hidden anger flickering there, pulsing like a heat behind the man’s eyes.

  ‘You don’t believe me?’

  ‘I never said that.’

  ‘Because Harry said you were on our side.’

  ‘I’m on Harry’s side,’ Whitt swallowed hard. ‘And Harry’s on your side.’

  ‘Right.’ Sam nodded, his jaw ticking with barely contained fury. ‘Well, mate, you’re correct. Whoever is framing me has gone to an awful lot of effort. They must hate me really bad. And it would be ridiculous for me to have no idea what it was, unless of course I never knew how angry they were in the first place.’

  ‘OK.’ Whitt nodded. ‘I see your point.’

  ‘What if it’s an ex-girlfriend?’ Sam shrugged. ‘Someone I broke up with, who I thought was OK, but who really wasn’t? You know, people can get these crazy stalker women. What if, all these years, she’s hated me for leaving her. And I never knew it. And the hate has just been festering and festering.’

  ‘Hmm,’ Whitt said.

  ‘Imagine how many sick and twisted people I might have offended in my ordinary everyday life who I have no idea have harboured this … this vendetta against me. I’ve had students over the years who have plagiarised assignments for my classes. They were expelled because I caught them out. Because I brought their work to the Dean, and he cancelled their enrolment.’

  ‘Right.’

  ‘There was a guy …’ Sam was almost rambling now, his eyes wandering over the scratched surface of the glass between them. ‘Another applicant for the position at the university. Maybe he blames me for not getting that job. Maybe this goes back further than that. Maybe it goes all the way back to when I was a kid moving around in and out of care. What if someone got placed in a family, or didn’t get placed in a family, because of me?’

  ‘Sam –’

  ‘What if –’

  ‘Sam, I think you’re winding yourself up now,’ Whitt said, touching the glass where the prisoner’s knuckles rested. ‘You’re right. If it’s a frame-up, it could be anyone. This person is sick. Why they’re doing it to you may not be as logical as we’re expecting it to be.’

  Sam tapped his wrist on the table before him, making the cuffs clatter rhythmically on its surface. He was panting. On the edge of losing it completely. Whitt made notes in his notebook, glancing up now and then at the frightened man’s eyes. It was all very convincing, Whitt thought. If Sam’s distress wasn’t real, it sure was a good act.

  Chapter 30

  HE DIDN’T EVEN feel the impact. Whitt was walking across the darkened car park towards the elevator of his apartment building when suddenly it seemed that the lights went out. He only realised he’d been hit when he tried to move and felt the oily, wet surface of the asphalt beneath his face. He shifted and the pain in his head made itself known, a huge, thumping ache.

  Terror sparked through him. He saw blood on the hand by his face, his own hand, numb. Whitt tried to rise and a voice stopped him.

  ‘Not so fast,’ a gravelly voice said. ‘You’ll make yourself yack.’

  Whitt slid carefully into a sitting position, propped himself against the wall by the elevator. There was a man leaning against the bonnet of someone’s car just metres away, a slice of pizza in one hand and a cardboard pizza box balancing on the flat of his other palm. Unkempt blond hair. A dusty leather jacket. Big boots. Whitt took the details in slowly, his mind refusing to come to full consciousness all at once.

  He did, indeed, feel like ‘yacking’. He felt the back of his skull tentatively with his fingers, noted the blood soaking his hair. His briefcase, wallet, phone, gun. It was all gone. He found his glasses and slipped them on.

  ‘Did you do this?’ Whitt asked.

  ‘Heh! No. I’m not a fucking coward. I use my fists.’

  ‘I was … hit with something?’

  ‘You been slocked,’ the man said. ‘Congratulations.’

  The man rolled a lump of asphalt he’d been toying with under his enormous black boot across the space between them. It came to a stop near Whitt’s knee. He picked up the chunk of rock and looked at it, dazed.

  ‘Whoever it was that hit you, he was an ex-con.’ The man took a bite of his pizza, chewed while he talked. ‘You learn to slock a guy in prison. Back in the day, you’d do it with a padlock. In a sock. Hence, “slock”. Plenty of locks around prisons. Makes a convenient, disposable weapon. Take your sock off, load it up, swing it up, over, and down on the guy’s head. Dump the lock, put your sock back on.’

  ‘I see.’

  ‘You know any ex-cons?’

  ‘Just current ones.’ Whitt dragged himself to his feet. ‘I didn’t catch your name.’

  ‘Tox Barnes.’

  ‘Tox?’ Whitt squinted.

  ‘Yup.’

  ‘I’m –’

  ‘Edward Whittacker. You’re the reason I’m here. I expected to find you upstairs in your apartment, sippin’ a chardonnay or browsing an IKEA catalogue or some shit. Nope. Looked in the windows there and saw you face-planted on the garage floor. Who’d have thought.’

  Whitt struggled to comprehend. One minute, he’d been walking from his car to the elevator, dreaming of home, worn out from the day in court, visiting Sam in prison. Now a strange, dishevelled man was schooling him on prison fight tactics. Whitt dragged himself up. He reached for his phone. Remembered it was gone.

  ‘I’m with Harry,’ Tox said.

  ‘Oh.’ Whitt watched the man finish the crust of his pizza, then chuck the empty box on the floor of the garage with a soft whump.

  ‘Yup. I’m here to help out with the thing with her brother.’

  ‘Oh,’ Whitt said again.

  ‘So, you’re on your feet.’ Tox looked his new partner up and down. ‘Let’s roll.’

  Chapter 31

  IT WAS A long, awkward ride back into town, Kash in the front seat, me in the back. Snale tried to make light, cheerful conversation to cover the silence. The dog sat staring at me as though my pockets might be full of treats, a long string of drool hanging from her tongue. She started barking as we came into sight of the town.

  ‘Oh, shit,’ Snale said as we pulled in to the main street.

  At the end of the row of ten stores, comprising the entirety of the town centre, was the tiny police st
ation. It was crowded with people. The gun-slinging group from the front of the pub had Zac Taby bailed up against the front doors. Digger and I jumped from the car before Snale had time to shut the engine off.

  The dog ran towards the group, its tail wagging so hard her hindquarters were swaying back and forth. It certainly was a friendly thing. I could see why the town was so attached to it.

  ‘We’ve had enough!’ A man had Zac by the front of his T-shirt, pushing him into the glass. ‘You’re going home to pack your shit, and then you’re outta here.’

  ‘Murderer!’ someone cried. ‘Terrorist!’

  ‘Break it up!’ I pushed the men aside. ‘I will arrest the lot of you if I have to. Back the fuck up.’

  One of the farmers pointed a gnarled finger at Zac. ‘He’s murdered our police chief. If you let him keep going, him and his kind will kill us all.’

  ‘He’s dangerous,’ a woman said. Suddenly the number of people around me had doubled. ‘We want him out of our town. We know he’s behind this.’

  ‘You don’t know shit, bitch,’ Zac spat in the dirt. ‘Suck my fat di–’

  ‘That’s enough from you.’ I shoved Zac into the police station. He stumbled deliberately against the front counter, clutching his elbow. ‘Argh! My arm! Police brutality!’

  ‘You are going to see some brutality in a minute.’ I frog-marched the boy through the empty station and into the interview room. Zac flopped into the chair, sunk low, so that his head looked straight across the tabletop, his legs spread beneath its surface. Snale and Kash shut the doors on the crowd and followed me into the darkened room, flipping on lights.

  Kash leaned on the table, taking up most of its space with his huge arms, forcing Zac to back off into his chair.

  ‘You probably deleted all those photos,’ Kash said. ‘But they’ll be easy enough to get back.’

  ‘No shit,’ Zac said.

  ‘You’re in a real mess, boy-o. Tell me about those pictures.’

  ‘These ones?’ Zac took out his phone and swiped through the photos Kash had talked about at the gully. Naked girls. Kids at a party, huffing dope. ‘I didn’t delete them. I’m not an idiot, dude. I know you can get them back. That’s my ex-girlfriend. Those are her tits. You want a closer look?’