Flashpoint (18 page)

‘That's Johnny Walker,' Pete said, the disapproval evident in his eyes.

‘You're shittin' me,' Cam said.

‘Dinkum, Sarge. He's best mates with Jack Daniels.'

Cam closed his eyes for a moment. ‘Go on, tell me what happened.'

‘Johnny's mum was doing her shopping and he was killing time riding his BMX up and down the back lane. He was doing circuits from the street into the lane when he found himself behind an old white ute, burning rubber, he said. He couldn't see what was in front because of the narrowness of the lane and the dust, but at one stage the ute sped up even more and he heard a thump. Next thing he knew he was having to swerve around a body in the road. Mrs Rooney.'

‘What else did you get?'

‘Not much. Kid said it was an older model white ute . . .'

‘Like every other vehicle in Glenroyd.' Cam rubbed his eye with the heel of his hand.

‘And he didn't get the licence plates, but he did say it was a male driver.'

‘And no one saw the ute leave the lane?'

‘Nope.'

Cam sighed and looked at the still figure on the dirt.

‘The woman with her is Mrs Ira Mason. She's a retired nurse,' Pete said.

‘How long ago did you call the ambulance?'

‘Over twenty minutes ago.'

‘Jesus. Call again.'

Pete started heading for the Commodore. ‘They're all volunteers,' he called over his shoulder, as if
feeling the need to explain the tardiness of his townsmen.

Cam moved over to Mrs Rooney, lying rigid among the potholes. Mrs Mason had covered her with a picnic blanket. A string bag lay on the ground nearby, its contents spilling onto the dirt: a can of baked beans, broken eggs. An oozing carton of milk was already souring the air.

He looked down at her crumpled form. ‘How bad?'

‘Not good,' Mrs Mason whispered. ‘Comminuted fractures to both femurs.' She clicked her tongue. ‘Poor old soul. They often never get over injuries like this.'

She pulled the blanket back, without him asking her to. There was surprisingly little blood, though both legs above the knee were a mass of snarled flesh, jutting bone and marbled fat. Cam bit down on his bottom lip. Mrs Mason waved away the circling flies and replaced the blanket.

He squatted and smoothed the powder puff of white hair from Mrs Rooney's clammy forehead, then brushed the gravel from her cheeks. Bruises were already forming under her eyes.

‘She must have hit her head, too,' Mrs Mason said, reading his thoughts.

The old woman moaned and her eyes opened into slits. ‘Cam. I'm so glad you took the time for a visit.' He had to bend his head to hear. ‘You're very dirty. You take that uniform off now, it needs a good soaking or it'll stain. And don't forget the chooks. They have to be locked up by sunset or the fox'll get 'em. They're good layers. I don't want 'em disturbed by anything. You will look after 'em, won't you, Cam?' She reached out for his hand and gave it a weak squeeze, pleading through eyes he could hardly bear to look at.

‘I'll take good care of them. You've nothing to worry about. You try and keep quiet now, Mrs R, the ambulance will be here soon.'

His sentence was punctured by the jarring sound of the siren. Some of the onlookers let out sarcastic cheers.

Greg and Mark Rooney pushed their way through the crowd, rushing over to their mother at about the same time as the ambulance officers reached her. Cam climbed to his feet and stood aside.

First aid was administered. Each son took a hand as she was wheeled to the ambulance. Mark climbed in to join her for the ride.

‘I'll take over from here, Pete,' Cam said.‘You take the kid and his mother back to the station and get the statement.'

Cam turned to Greg Rooney; the man was pale and shaken. He remembered playing footy against him. He'd been a big boy then, but time seemed to have shrunk him. ‘She always walked home down the back lane,' Greg said. ‘She said it was much safer than dodging the cars on the High Street.' He took a gulp of air. Cam laid his hand on his shoulder. ‘Who'd want to do that to a harmless old grandmother?' Greg spoke to the back lane in general.

Leanne was sending the onlookers home, shooing them away as if they were a swarm of flies.

‘That's what I'm going to find out. Have you any ideas?' Cam asked.

Greg shook his head, scrubbing at his face with his hands. The air hung about them like a fog, rancid from the overflowing bins at the back of the shop.

Greg sucked in a breath. ‘She was going to work for you, wasn't she?'

‘Yes, she was.'

‘She was really looking forward to it.'

Cam swallowed.‘We were looking forward to having her.'

***

The excitement of the morning's hunt was numbed by the tragedy back in town. Cam and Leanne, lost in their own thoughts, watched the tow truck haul the wreck from the dam. Thunder rolled from the east as thick grey cloud obscured the sun. Soon, dollops of rain were pocking the water's glassy surface.

‘Well, there goes our crime scene. I guess we'll never know exactly where he was killed,' Leanne said, gripping her elbows against the sudden drop in temperature.

‘The car might be able to tell us something, though,' Cam said, heading towards the leaking wreck. He'd asked the driver to stay in his truck while he and Leanne made their cursory inspection.

The vehicle was nothing but an empty husk. ‘No body.' Leanne sounded disappointed.

‘No plates, no tyres, no engine, no seats, and the water will have washed off any prints,' Cam said, trying the driver's door. It was jammed; he stuck his head through the glassless window and leaned down, running his gloved hand along the inside of the gaping panel, finding nothing. The passenger door panel had been ripped off completely, exposing another empty cavity.

He said, ‘Each door could have held ten kilos or more.'

Leanne drew in a sharp breath. The soft line between her eyebrows deepened.

‘Remember the coffee filter that stuck to my pants in the skip? They're often used to filter chemicals during amphetamine production. No wonder the colour of my pants was bleached out.'

‘Let's go back to the skips, then.'

‘They're gone. I checked.'

She slapped at her thighs in frustration. ‘Well, there's obviously something going on at the school. Let's go and rattle some chains.'

‘There's no point until we have something to charge them with.'

‘But the school has to be involved. The Smithsons are definitely up to something.'

‘Not necessarily. The druggies may have just used the skips as their dumping ground.'

Cam walked towards the back of the wreck and peered through the empty rear window. The water was still draining, but as it swirled out through the holes, something became visible on the emptying floor: something that did not belong to the wrecked car. He pulled himself through the back window to investigate, calling to Leanne for an evidence bag.

***

Rain hammered on the tin roof of the workshop. The breeze from the open door was chill through their wet uniforms. Cliff glanced from one cop to the other, his eyes locking on to Leanne's clinging shirt.

He smirked. ‘And what can I do for you two?' Leanne folded her arms and gritted her teeth.

‘Just thought we'd pop in for a friendly chat, Cliff,' Cam said, feeling anything but friendly. He scanned the workshop. ‘Angelo around?'

‘Day off. You can catch him tomorrow.'

‘He works Sundays?'

‘Yeah, it's a favour to his folks. They need the money.'

‘That's very big-hearted of you, Cliff.'

‘I'm a big-hearted guy.' His stare switched from Leanne's breasts to Cam's face. He took his time wiping his hands with an oily rag. Cam searched his eyes
for a glimmer of guilt, but all he caught was the spark of a challenge. ‘More questions about the fire I suppose?'

‘Got it in one,' Cam said.

‘I don't see what the fuss is all about. I told you what happened; I've done nothing wrong.'

Cliff tossed the rag onto the nearest workbench and shoved his hands in his overall pockets.

‘What happened between you and Angelo that day, Cliff?' Cam asked.

The big man shed his nonchalant air, took two strides towards Cam and leaned into his face. Leanne's hand moved to her pepper spray. Cam shot her a look of warning, sensing that Cliff 's anger was directed more at Angelo than at them.

‘What's the little shit been saying?' Cliff said, fists balled at his side. ‘After everything I've done for him. What's he bleating about now?'

Cam stepped away, wiping a fleck of Cliff 's saliva from his eye. ‘He hasn't said anything. It's just something I figured out after watching you two at the prefab fire. You have a bad temper, Cliff. I'm guessing you hit him at the bushfire. Why?

‘Is he charging me with assault or something?'

‘No. But I want to know what happened.'

Cliff hesitated, making a grinding sound with his teeth. ‘He wasn't doing his job properly, wasn't spraying where it was needed, so I knocked him into line. That's the only way these apprentices learn. If it was left to him, the whole school property would have been destroyed by now and you'd have lost your precious body to boot.'

This was completely the opposite of what Angelo had told Cam.

‘How did you know the body's location?'

‘My girlfriend, Ruth. She saw where it was when you lot interviewed the teachers. If it wasn't for me you wouldn't have a body to fuss over right now.'

Cam risked a glance at Leanne. Earlier he'd told her Angelo's version of events and was pleased to see her expression gave nothing away. With his hands in his pockets, he started to amble around the workshop. ‘You don't mind if I have a bit of a sticky, do you, Cliff?'

Cliff grunted. ‘I don't see that I have much of a choice.'

‘You can always insist on a search warrant.'

It wasn't much of a risk to take. The years had taught Cam that villains were invariably cooperative in matters pertaining to search and seizure, often waiving their right to a warrant because they were arrogant or stupid enough to think they could outwit the police. He was pleased to see Cliff was both.

‘Do you own a white ute, Cliff?'

‘No, I don't. Search my place too if you want. You won't find one.'

‘Where were you at around ten this morning?'

‘At Flo's, having smoko.'

Cam glanced at Leanne. She nodded, indicating she'd follow it up.

‘So what am I supposed to have done now?'

‘There was an accident in town this morning. A hit and run. A fella in a white ute was seen leaving the scene.'

‘And because I've been inside, you thought you might just try and pin it on me?'

‘You or one of the other thousand males in the area.'

Cam turned his back on Cliff and wandered further into the workshop. He knew where he was heading, but took his time getting there, examining the tools and
machines as he went. Cliff followed behind with all the grace of a moving mountain. Finally Cam came to the pegboard for the smaller tools. The stencilled shapes on it showed what belonged where. He pointed to an empty space. ‘Where's your jemmy, mate?'

Cliff shrugged. ‘I dunno. Lost or nicked I think.'

‘Describe it to me and we'll keep an eye open for it.' Leanne wrote Cliff 's description down in her notebook.

A true tradesman, Cliff could describe his tools like a mother her children. They would compare the jemmy they'd found in the sunken wreck with the tool described by Cliff. If they matched it would be kept as evidence against him. It wasn't much but at least it was a start.

Cam strolled out into the yard. Leanne followed. Cliff stayed in the workshop to read the paper, back to his cops-don't-bother-me-I-haven't-done-anything-wrong attitude.

The rain had stopped and the sharp smell of wet bitumen drifted on the air from the road. Spiders' webs hung like jewelled silk across the rusted pieces of old machinery. Water dripped off the shed roof from the end of a corroded downpipe, forming an oily pool on the baked ground.

Cam and Leanne skirted the puddles, heading for the fire unit. It was parked in its usual place, next to the tow truck, within easy access of the double back gates. Cam opened the passenger door. The Ugg boots were on the floor, as before. Their significance took a moment to sink in.

‘You beauty!' he said, slapping his hand against the roof of the fire truck, spraying them both with water.

Leanne wiped her face with the sleeve of her shirt. ‘Sarge?' she frowned.

‘The Ugg boots. Remember the sheepskin fibres
found between Bell's toes?'

Leanne gawped for a moment, then punched the air. ‘Yessss!' She glanced at the workshop door and whispered, ‘The body was put on the seat of the fire truck with the feet resting against the Ugg boots. The wool fibres weren't burned because they were stuck between the toes.'

‘It also explains how the only tyre tracks belonged to the fire truck, the only footprints belonged to the firemen . . .'

The workshop door slammed and Cliff appeared, blinking in the sunlight. Hands on hips, he had a wolfish smile on his face.

‘Do you mind if I take these boots for a while to help with the investigation?' Cam asked him.

‘So long as I get them back soon; I need them when my bunions play up.' Cliff chuckled as he walked over to the fire truck. ‘Besides, who am I to kick up a fuss when I'm talking to a celebrity such as yourself?'

Cam glanced at Leanne to see if she had any idea what he was talking about. She shrugged.

Cliff leaned against the fire truck, obviously enjoying their confusion. Then he laughed, thumping the truck's bonnet with glee before disappearing into his shed. He returned a few seconds later with the newspaper. After wiping the bonnet with a rag, he spread it out, turning the pages until he found what he was looking for.